iitii:i;;n!t!iii 


n 


SELECTIONS 

FROM 

THE  POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

ALGERNON  C  SWINBURNE 


FROM    THE    LATEST    ENGLISH    EDITION 
OF     HIS     WORKS 


NEW  YORK 
A.     L.      BURT,     PUBLISHER 


CONTENTS. 

"^  PAGE 

^       A  Ballad  of  Burdens 51 

H       A  Ballad  of  Death 34 

A  Ballad  of  Life 31 

''       A  Birth-song 182 

A  Cameo 347 

u^     A  Child's  Laughter 406 

^     A  Child's  Sleep 406 

i^—\    A  Christmas  Carol 89 

^    A  Dialogue 387 

^A  Forsaken  Garden 153 

Age  and  Song 177 

Aholibah   124 

A  Lamentation 44 

CO      A  Leave-taking 37 

g^      A  Litany 40 

-       A  Match 341 

'      Anactoria 319 

_'      Anami  Anceps 47 

CD      An  Appeal 238 

o      An  Interlude 76 

A  Parting  Song 299 

April 72 

A  Song  in  Time  of  Order 57 

A  Song  in  Time  of  Revolution 59 

A  Song  of  Italy 245 

A  Song  of  Welcome 407 

A  Sunset 401 

At  Eleusis 82 

At  Parting 192 

August    87 

Ave  Atque  Vale 165 

A  Vision  of  Spring  in  Winter 189 

A  Wasted  Vigil 157 

A  Year's  Burden 395 

Before  Dawn 67 

Before  Parting 74 

Before  Sunset 188 

Before  the  Mirror 54 

By  the  North  Sea 302 

Cliildren 405 

Christmas  Antiphones 202 

Cor  Cordiuni 227 

iii 

or: 


2S7mH 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Dolores 352 

Eight  Years  Old 280 

Epicede 180 

Epilogue 423 

Evening  on  the  Broads 290 

Ex-Voto 184 

Faustina 342 

Felise 368 

For  the  Feast  of  Giordano  Bruno 164 

Fragoletta 337 

Hendecasyllabics 78 

Hertha 383 

Hermaphroditus 336 

Herse 278 

Hesperia 363 

Hymn  to  Proserpine 326 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Edward  John  Trelawny 282 

Illicet 332 

Inferiae 181 

In  Guernsey 384 

In  Memory  of  Walter  Savage  Landor 56 

In  Memory  of  Barry  Cornwall 178 

In  San  Lorenzo 395 

In  the  Bay 144 

In  the  Orchard 339 

In  the  Water 379 

Itylus 38 

Laus  Veneris  1 

Les  Noyades 29 

Love  at  Sea 71 

Madonna  Mia 128 

May  Janet 132 

Mater  Dolorosa.    . , 211 

Mater  Triiunphalis 214 

Memorial  Verses 171 

"  Non  Dolet " 282 

Off  Shore 284 

On  the  Verge 376 

Pastiche 187 

Perinde  Ac  Cadaver 241 

Phajdra 13 

Relics 154 

Rizpah 193 

Rococo 49 

Rondel 40 

Saint  Dorothy 102 

Sapphics 79 

Sestima 156 

Siena 219 

Six  Years  Old 298 

Song 189 


co;ntents.  V 

PAQE 

Song  Before  Death 49 

Sonnets  : 

After  looking  into  Carlyle's  Reminiscences 410 

A  Last  Look 411 

Anonymous  Plays  ("  Arden  of  Faversham  ") 420 

Anonymous  Plays 421 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher 414 

Ben  Jonson 414 

Christopher  Marlowe 413 

Dickens 411 

George  Chapman 418 

James  Shirley 419 

John  Day 419 

John  Ford 415 

John  Marston 418 

John  Webster 416 

On  Lamb's  Specimens  of  Dramatic  Poems 412 

On  the  Deaths  of  Thomas  Carlyle  and  Geo.  Eliot. .  410 

Philip  Massinger 415 

The  Many 422 

The  Tribe  of  Benjamin 420 

Thomas  Decker 416 

Thomas  Hey  wood 417 

Thomas  Middleton 417 

To  William  Bell  Scott 409 

William  Shakespeare 413 

Stage  Love 347 

Thalassius 265 

Tiresias 227 

To  Aurelio  Saffi 398 

To  Louis  Kossuth 194 

To  Victor  Hugo 62 

The  Bloody  Son 133 

The  Caves  of  Sark 381 

The  Complaint  of  Lisa 160 

,The  Emperor's  Progress 297 

"^The  Garden  of  Proserpine 69 

The  King's  Daughter 130 

The  Last  Oracle 139 

The  Leper 348 

The  liitany  of  Nations 197 

The  Masque  of  Queen  Bersabe 91 

The  Oblation 244 

The  Pilgrims 194 

The  Sea  Swallows 136 

The  Sunbows 378 

The  Sundew 75 

The  Triumph  of  Time 19 

The  Two  Dreams 113 

The  White  Czar 192 

The  Year  of  Love 138 


POEMS    AND    BALLADS. 


TO 

MY    FRIEND 

EDWARD  BURNE  JONES 

THESE    POEMS 

ARE   AFFECTIONATELY   AND   ADMIRINGLY 

DEDICATED. 


LAUS    VENERIS. 


Lors  dit  en  plourant  ;  Helas  trop  malheureux  homme  et 
mauldict  pescheur,  oncques  ne  verrai-je  clemence  et  miseri- 
corde  de  Dieu.  Ores  m'en  irai-je  d'icy  et  nie  cacherai  de- 
dans le  mont  Horsel,  en  requerant  de  faveur  et  d'amoureuse 
merci  ma  doulce  dame  Venus,  car  pour  son  amour  serai-je 
bien  a  tout  jamais  damne  en  enfer.  Voicy  la  fin  de  tous 
mes  faicts  d'armes  et  de  toutes  mes  belles  chansons.  Helas, 
trop  belle  estoyt  la  face  de  ma  dame  et  ses  yeulx,  et  en 
mauvais  jour  je  vis  ces  chouses-la.  Lors  s'en  alia  tout  en 
gemissant  et  se  retourna  chez  elle,  et  la  vescut  tristement 
en  grand  amour  pres  de  sa  dame.  Puis  apres  advint  que 
le  pape  vit  un  jour  esclater  sur  son  baston  force  belles 
fieurs  rouges  et  blanches  et  maints  boutons  de  feuilles, 
et  ainsi  vit-il  reverdir  toute  I'escorce.  Ce  dont  il  eut 
grande  crainte  et  moult  s'en  esmut,  et  grande  pitie  lui  prit 
de  ce  chevalier  qui  s'en  estoyt  departi  sans  espoir  comme 
un  homme  miserable  et  damne.  Doncques  envoya  force 
messaigers  devers  luy  pour  le  ramener,  disant  qu'il  aurait 
de  Dieu  grace  et  bonne  absolution  de  son  grand  pesche 
d'amour.  Mais  oncques  plus  ne  le  virent ;  car  toujours 
demeura  ce  pauvre  chevalier  aupres  de  Venus  la  haulte  et 
forte  deesse  es  flancs  de  la  montagne  amoureuse. 

Livre  des  grandes  merveilles  d'amour,  escript  en  latin 
et  en  frangoys  par  Maistre  Antoine  Gaget.     1530. 


LAUS  VENERIS. 

Asleep  or  waking  is  it  ?  for  her  neck, 
Kissed  over  close,  wears  yet  a  purple  speck 

Wherein  the  pained  blood  falters  and  goes  out  j 
Soft,  and  stung  softly — fairer  for  a  fleck. 

But  though  my  lips  shut  sucking  on  the  place. 
There  is  no  vein  at  work  upon  her  face ; 

Her  eyelids  are  so  peaceful,  no  doubt 
Deep  sleep  has  warmed  her  blood  through  all  its  ways. 

Lo,  this  is  she  that  was  the  world's  delight ; 
The  old  gray  years  were  parcels  of  her  might ; 
The  strewings  of  the  ways  wherein  she  trod 
Were  the  twain  seasons  of  the  day  and  night. 

Lo,  she  was  thus  when  her  clear  limbs  enticed    \ 
All  lips  that  now  grow  sad  with  kissing  Christ, 

Stained  with  blood  fallen  from  the  feet  of  God, 
The  feet  and  hands  whereat  our  souls  were  priced.  , 

Alas,  Lord,  surely  thou  art  great  and  fair. 
But  lo  her  wonderfully  woven  hair  ! 

And  thou  didst  heal  us  with  thy  piteous  kiss ; 
But  see  now.  Lord  ;  her  mouth  is  lovelier. 

She  is  right  fair  ;  what  hath  she  done  to  thee  ? 
Nay,  fair  Lord  Christ,  lift  up  thine  eyes  and  see  ; 

Had  now  thy  mother  such  a  lip — like  this  ? 
Thou  knowest  how  sweet  a  thing  it  is  to  me. 

Inside  the  Horsel  here  the  air  is  hot ; 
Right  little  peace  one  hath  for  it,  God  wot  ; 
The  scented  dusted  daylight  burns  the  air. 
And  my  heart  chokes  me  till  I  hear  it  not. 


2  LAUS  VENERIS. 

Behold,  my  Venus,  my  soul's  body,  lies 
With  my  love  laid  upon  her  garment-wise, 
Feeling  my  love  in  all  her  limbs  and  hair 
And  shed  between  her  eyelids  through  her  eyes. 

She  holds  my  heart  in  her  sweet  open  hands 
Hanging  asleep  ;  hard  by  her  head  there  stands. 
Crowned  with  gilt  thorns  and  clothed  with  flesh 
like  fire, 
Love,  wan  as  foam  blown  up  the  salt  burnt  sands — 

Hot  as  the  brackish  waifs  of  yellow  spume 
That  shift  and  steam — loose  clots  of  arid  fume 
From  the  sea's  panting  mouth  of  dry  desire  ; 
There  stands  he,  like  one  laboring  at  a  loom. 

The  warp  holds  fast  across  ;  and  every  thread 
That  makes  the  woof  up  has  dry  specks  of  red ; 

Always  the  shuttle  cleaves  clean  through,  and  he 
Weaves  with  the  hair  of  many  a  ruined  head. 

Love  is  not  glad  nor  sorry,  as  I  deem  ; 
Laboring  he  dreams,  and  labors  in  the  dream. 

Till  when  the  spool  is  finished,  lo  I  see 
His  web,  reeled  off,  curls  and  goes  out  like  steam. 

Night  falls  like  fire  ;  the  heavy  lights  run  low, 
And  as  they  drop,  my  blood  and  body  so 

Shake  as  the  flame  shakes,  full  of  days  and  hours 
That  sleep  not  neither  weep  they  as  they  go. 

Ah  yet  would  God  this  flesh  of  mine  might  be 
Where  air  might  wash  and  long  leaves  cover  me, 

Where  tides  of  grass  break  into  foam  of  flowers. 
Or  where  the  wind's  feet  shine  along  the  sea. 

Ah  yet  would  God  that  stems  and  roots  were  bred 
Out  of  my  weary  body  and  my  head, 

That  sleep  were  sealed  upon  me  with  a  seal. 
And  I  were  as  the  least  of  all  his  dead. 

Would  God  my  blood  were  dew  to  feed  the  grass. 
Mine  ears  made  deaf  and  mine  eyes  blind  as  glass. 

My  body  broken  as  a  turning  wheel, 
And  my  mouth  stricken  ere  it  saith  Alas  ! 


LAUS  VENERIS.  3 

Ah  God,  that  love  were  as  a  flower  or  flame, 
That  life  were  as  the  naming  of  a  name, 

That  death  were  not  more  pitiful  than  desire. 
That  these  things  were  not  one  thing  and  the  same  ! 

Behold  now,  surely  somewhere  there  is  death  : 
For  each  man  hath  some  space  of  years,  he  saith, 

A  little  space  of  time  ere  time  expire, 
A  little  day,  a  little  way  of  breath. 

And  lo,  between  the  sundawn  and  the  sun. 

His  day's  work  and  his  night's  work  are  undone  ; 

And  lo,  between  the  nightfall  and  the  light. 
He  is  not,  and  none  knoweth  of  such  an  one. 

Ah  God,  that  I  were  as  all  souls  that  be. 
As  any  herb  or  leaf  of  any  tree, 

As  men  that  toil  through  hours  of  laboring  night. 
As  bones  of  men  under  the  deep  sharp  sea. 

Outside  it  must  be  winter  among  men  ; 
For  at  the  gold  bars  of  the  gates  again 

I  heard  all  night  and  all  the  hours  of  it. 
The  wind's  wet  wings  and  fingers  drip  with  rain. 

Knights  gather,  riding  sharp  for  cold;  I  know 
The  ways  and  woods  are  strangled  with  the  snow  ; 

And  with  short  song  the  maidens  spin  and  sit 
Until  Christ's  birthnight,  lily-like,  arow. 

The  scent  and  shadow  shed  about  me  make 
The  very  soul  in  all  my  senses  ache  ; 

The  hot  hard  night  is  fed  upon  my  breath. 
And  sleep  beholds  me  from  afar  awake. 

Alas,  but  surely  where  the  hills  grow  deep, 
Or  where  the  wild  ways  "bf  the  sea  are  steep. 

Or  in  strange  places  somewhere  there  is  death, 
And  on  death's  face  the  scattered  hair  of  sleep. 

There  lover-like  with  lips  and  limbs  that  meet 
They  lie,  they  pluck  sweet  fruit  of  life  and  eat ; 

But  me  the  hot  and  hungry  days  devour, 
And  in  my  mouth  no  fruit  of  theirs  is  sweet. 


4  LAUS  VENERIS. 

No  fruit  of  theirs,  but  fruit  of  my  desire, 

For  her  love's  sake  whose  lips  through  mine  respire  ; 

Her  eyelids  ou  her  eyes  like  flower  on  flower. 
Mine  eyelids  on  mine  eyes  like  fire  on  fire. 

So  lie  we,  not  as  sleep  that  lies  by  death, 
With  heavy  kisses  and  with  happy  breath  ; 

Not  as  man  lies  by  woman,  when  the  bride 
Laughs  low  for  love's  sake  and  the  words  he  saith, 

For  she  lies,  laughing  low  with  love  :  she  lies 
And  turns  his  kisses  on  her  lips  to  sighs. 

To  sighing  sound  of  lips  unsatisfied, 
And  the  sweet  tears  are  tender  with  her  eyes. 

Ah,  not  as  they,  but  as  the  souls  that  were 
Slain  in  the  old  time,  having  found  her  fair  ; 

Who,  sleeping  with  her  lips  upon  their  eyes, 
Heard  sudden  serpents  hiss  across  her  hair. 

Their  blood  runs  round  the  roots  of  time  like  rain, 
She  casts  them  forth  and  gathers  them  again  ; 

With  nerve  and  bone  she  weaves  and  multiplies 
Exceeding  pleasure  out  of  extreme  pain. 

Her  little  chambers  drip  with  flower-like  red, 
Her  girdles,  and  the  chaplets  of  her  head. 

Her  armlets  and  her  anklets  ;  with  her  feet 
She  tramples  all  that  winepress  of  the  dead. 

Her  gateways  smoke  with  fume  of  flowers  and  fires. 
With  loves  burnt  out  and  unassuaged  desires  ; 

Between   her  lips  the  steam  of  them  is  sweet. 
The  languor  in  her  ears  of  many  lyres. 

Her  beds  are  full  of  perfume  and  sad  sound, 
Her  doors  are  made  with  music,  and  barred  round 
With  sighing  and  with  laughter  and  with  tears. 
With  tears  whereby  strong  souls  of  men  are  bound. 

There  is  the  knight  Adonis  that  was  slain  ; 
With  flesh  and  blood  she  chains  him  for  a  chain  ; 

The  hotly  and  the  spirit  in  her  ears 
Cry,  for  her  lips  divide  him  vein  by  vein. 


LAUS  VENERIS.  5 

Yea,  all  she  slayeth  ;  yea,  every  man  save  me  ; 
Me,  love,  thy  lover  that  must  cleave  to  thee 

Till  the  ending  of  the  days  and  ways  of  earth. 
The  shaking  of  the  sources  of  the  sea. 

Me,  most  forsaken  of  all  souls  that  fell  ; 
Me,  satiated  with  things  insatiable  ; 

Me,  for  whose  sake  the  extreme  hell  makes  mirth, 
Yea,  laughter  kindles  at  the  heart  of  hell. 

Alas  thy  beauty  !  for  thy  mouth's  sweet  sake 
My  soul  is  bitter  to  me,  my  limbs  quake 

As  water,  as  the  flesh  of  men  that  weep. 
As  their  heart's  vein  whose  heart  goes  nigh  to  break. 

Ah  God,  that  sleep  with  flower-sweet  finger-tips 
Would  crush  the  fruit  of  death  upon  my  lips  ; 

Ah  God,  that  death  would   tread   the   grapes   of 
sleep 
And  wring  their  juice  upon  me  as  it  drips. 

There  is  no  change  of  cheer  for  many  days. 

But  change  of  chimes  high  up  in  the  air,  that  sways 

Rung  by  the  running  fingers  of  the  wind  ; 
And  singing  sorrows  heard  on  hidden  Avays. 

Day  smiteth  day  in  twain,  night  sundereth  night, 
And  on  mine  eyes  the  dark  sits  as  the  light  ; 

Yea,  Lord,    thou    knowest   I    know   not,    having 

j  sinned, 

I  If  heaven  be  clean  or  unclean  in  thy  sight. 

Yea,  as  if  earth  were  sprinkled  over  me, 

Such  chafed  harsh  earth  as  chokes  a  sandy  sea, 

Each  pore  doth  yearn,  and  the  dried  blood  thereof 
Gasps  by  sick  fits,  my  heart  swims  heavily, 

There  is  a  feverish  famine  in  my  veins  ; 
Below  her  bosom,  where  a  crushed  grape  stains 
The   white  and  blue,  there   my  lips  caught   and 
clove 
An  hour  since,  and  what  mark  of  me  remains  'i 


6  LAUS  VENERIS. 

/  dare  not  always  touch  her,  lest  the  kiss 

Leave  my  lips  charred.     Yea,  Lord,  a  little  bliss, 

Brief  bitter  bliss,  one  hath  for  a  great  sin  ; 
Nathless  thoa  knowest  how  sweet  a  thing  it  is. 

Sin,  is  it  sin  whereby  men's  souls  are  thrust 
Into  the  pit  ?  yet  had  I  a  good  trust 

To  save  my  soul  before  it  slipped  therein, 
Trod  under  by  the  fire-shod  feet  of  lust. 

For  if  mine  eyes  fail  and  my  soul  takes  breath, 
I  look  between  the  iron  sides  of  death 

Into  sad  hell  where  all  sweet  love  hath  end. 
All  but  the  pain  that  never  finisheth. 

There  are  the  naked  faces  of  great  kings. 
The  singing  folk  with  all  their  lute-playings  ; 

There  when  one  cometh  he  shall  have  to  friend 
The  grave  that  covets  and  the  worm  that  clings. 

There  sit  the  knights  that  were  so  great  of  hand, 
The  ladies  that  were  queens  of  fair  green  land, 
Grown   gray   and  black   now,  brought   unto  the 
dust, 
Soiled,  without  raiment,  clad  about  with  sand. 

There  is  one  end  for  all  of  them  ;  they  sit 
Naked  and  sad,  they  drink  the  dregs  of  it. 

Trodden  as  grapes  in  the  wine-press  of  lust. 
Trampled  and  trodden  by  the  fiery  feet. 

\  I  see  the  marvellous  mouth  whereby  there  fell 
Cities  and  people  whom  the  gods  loved  well. 
Yet  for  her  sake  on  them  the  fire  gat  hold, 
And  for  their  sakes  on  her  the  fire  of  hell. 

And  softer  than  the  Egyptian  lote-leaf  is 

The  queen  whose  face  was  worth  the  world  to  kiss, 

Wearing  at  breast  a  suckling  snake  of  gold  ; 
And  large  pale  lips  of  strong  Semiramis. 

Curled  like  a  tiger's  that  curl  back  to  feed  ; 
Red  only  where  the  last  kiss  made  them  bleed  ; 
Her  hair  most  thick  with  many  a  carven  gem, 
Deep  in  the  mane,  great-chested,  like  a  steed. 


LAUS  VENERIS.  7 

Yea,  with  red  sin  the  faces  of  them  shine  ; 
But  in  all  these  there  was  no  sin  like  mine  ; 

No,  not  in  all  the  strange  great  sins  of  them 
That  made  the  wine-press  froth  and  foam  with  wine. 

For  I  was  of  Christ's  choosing,  I  God's  knight, 
No  blinkard  heathen  stumbling  for  scant  light  ; 

I  can  well  see,  for  all  the  dusty  days 
Gone  past,  the  clean  great  time  of  goodly  fight. 

I  smell  the  breathing  battle  sharp  with  blows, 
With  shriek  of  shafts  and  snapping  short  of  bows  ; 

The  fair  pure  sword  smites  out  in  subtle  ways. 
Sounds  and  long  lights  are  shed  between  the  rows 

Of  beautiful  mailed  men  ;  the  edged  light  slips. 
Most  like  a  snake  that  takes  short  breath  and  dips 

Sharp  from  the  beautifully  bending  head. 
With  all  its  gracious  body  lithe  as  lijDS 

That  curl  in  touching  you  ;  right  i7i  this  wise 
My  sword  doth,  seeming  fire  in  mine  own  eyes, 

Leaving  all  colors  in  them  brown  and  red 
And  flecked  with  death  ;  then  the  keen  breaths  like 
sighs. 

The  caught-up  choked  dry  laughters  following  them. 
When  all  the  fighting  face  is  grown  a  flame 

For  pleasure,  and  the  pulse  that  stuns  tlie  ears, 
And  the  heart's  gladness  of  the  goodly  ganie. 

Let  me  think  yet  a  little  ;  I  do  know 

These  things  were  sweet,  but  sweet  such  years  ago. 

Their  savor  is  all  turned  now  into  tears  ; 
Yea,  ten  years  since,  where  the  blue  ripples  blow 

The  blue  curled  eddies  of  the  blowing  Rhine, 
I  felt  the  sharp  wind  shaking  grass  and  vine 

Touch  my  blood  too,  and  sting  me  with  delight 
Through  all  this  waste  and  weary  body  of  mine 

That  never  feels  clear  air  ;  right  gladly  then 
I  rode  alo7ie,  a  great  way  off  my  men, 

And  heard  the  chiming  bridle  smite  and  smite. 
And  gave  each  rhyme  tliereof  some  rliyme  again, 


8  LAUS  VENERIS. 

Till  niy  song  shifted  to  that  iron  one ; 
Seeing  there  rode  up  between  me  and  the  sun 
Some  certain  of  my  foe's  men,  for  his  three 
White  wolves  across  their  painted  coats  did  rnu. 

The  first  red-bearded,  with  square  cheeks — alack, 
I  made  my  knave's  blood  turn  his  beard  to  black  ; 

The  slaying  of  him  was  a  joy  to  see  : 
Perchance  too,  when  at  night  he  came  not  back, 

Some  woman  fell  a-weeping,  whom  this  thief 
Would  beat  when  he  had  drunken  ;  yet  small  grief 

Hath  any  for  the  ridding  of  such  knaves  ; 
Yea,  if  one  wept,  I  doubt  her  teen  was  brief. 

This  bitter  love  is  sorrow  in  all  lands. 

Draining  of  eyelids,  wringing  of  drenched  hands, 

Sighing  of  hearts  and  filling  up  of  graves  ; 
A  sign  across  the  head  of  the  world  he  stands. 

As  one  that  hath  a  plague-mark  on  his  brows  ; 
Dust  and  spilt  blood  do  track  him  to  his  house 

Down  under  earth  ;  sweet  smells  of  liji  and  cheek, 
Like  a  sweet  snake's  breath  made  more  poisonous 

With  chewing  of  some  perfumed  deadly  grass. 
Are  shed  all  round  his  passage  if  he  pass. 

And  their  quenched  savor  leaves  the  whole  soul 
weak 
Sick  with  keen  guessing  whence  the  perfume  was. 

As  one  who  hidden  in  deep  sedge  and  reeds 
Smells  the  rare  scent  made  where  a  panther  feeds, 

And  tracking  ever  slotwise  the  warm  smell 
Is  snapped  upon  by  the  sweet  mouth  and  bleeds 

His  head  far  down  the  hot  sweet  throat  of  her — 
So  one  tracks  love,  whose  breath  is  deadlier. 

And  lo,  one  springe  and  you  are  fast  in  hell. 
Fast  as  the  gin's  grip  of  a  wayfarer. 

I  think  now,  as  the  heavy  hours  decease 
One  after  one,  and  bitter  thoughts  increase 

One  upon  one,  of  all  sweet  finished  things  ; 
The  breaking  of  the  battle  ;  the  long  peace 


LAUS  VENERIS.  9 

Wherein  we  sat  clothed  softly,  each  man's  hair 
Crowned  with  green  leaves  beneath  white  hoods  of 
vair. 
The  sounds  of  sharp  spears  at  great  tourneyings, 
And  noise  of  singing  in  the  late  sweet  air. 

I  sang  of  love,  too,  knowing  nought  thereof  ; 
**  Sweeter,"  I  said,  ''the  little  laugh  of  love 

Than  tears  out  of  the  eyes  of  Magdalen, 
Or  any  fallen  feather  of  the  Dove. 

"  The  broken  little  laugh  that  spoils  a  kiss. 
The  ache  of  purple  pulses,  and  the  bliss 

Of  blinded  eyelids  that  exi^and  again — 
Love  draws  them  open  with  those  lips  of  his, 

"  Lips  that  cling  hard  till  the  kissed  face  has  grown 
Of  one  same  fire  and  color  with  their  own  ; 

Then  ere  one  sleep,  appeased  with  sacrifice, 
AVhere  his  lips  wounded,  there  his  lips  atone." 

I  sang  these  things  long  since  and  knew  them  not ; 
"  Lo,  here  is  love,  or  there  is  love,  God  wot. 
This  man  and  that  finds  favor  in  his  eyes," 
I  said,  "  but,  I,  what  guerdon  have  I  got  ? 

"  The  dust  of  praise  that  is  blown  everywhere 
In  all  men's  faces  with  tlie  common  air  ; 

The  bay-leaf  that  wants  chafing  to  be  sweet 
Before  they  wind  it  in  a  singer's  hair." 

So  that  one  dawn  I  rode  forth  sorrowing  ; 
I  had  no  hope  but  of  some  evil  thing, 

And  so  rode  slowly  past  the  windy  wheat. 
And  past  the  vineyard  and  tlie  water-spring, 

Up  to  the  Horsel.     A  great  elder-tree 
Held  back  its  heaps  of  flowers  to  let  me  see 

The  ripe  tall  grass,  and  one  that  walked  therein, 
Naked,  with  hair  shed  over  to  tlie  knee. 

'  She  walked  between  the  blossom  and  the  grass  ; 
I  knew  the  beauty  of  her,  what  she  was, 
..     The  beauty  of  her  body  and  lier  sin, 
lAnd  in  my  flesh  the  sin  of  hers,  alas  ! 


10  LAUS  VENERIS. 

Alas  !  for  sorrow  is  all  the  end  of  this. 

0  sad  kissed  mouth,  how  sorrowful  it  is  ! 

0  breast  whereat  some  suckling  sorrow  clings. 
Bed  with  the  bitter  blossom  of  a  kiss  ! 

Ah,  with  blind  lips  I  felt  for  you,  and  found    ^^ 

About  my  neck  your  hands  and  hair  en  wound,  j 

The  hands  that  stifle  and  the  hair  that  stingsJ 

1  felt  them  fasten  sharply  without  sound.  ^ 

Yea,  for  my  sin  I  had  great  store  of  bliss      \ 
Eise  up,  make  answer  for  me,  let  thy  kiss       \ 
Seal  my  lips  hard  from  speaking  of  my  sin,) 
Lest  one  go  mad  to  hear  how  sweet  it  is.         / 

Yet  I  waxed  faint  with  fume  of  barren  bowers. 
And  murmuring  of  the  heavy-headed  hours  ; 

And  let  the  dove's  beak  fret  and  peck  within 
My  lips  in  vain,  and  Love  shed  fruitless  flowers. 

So  that  God  looked  upon  me  when  your  hands 
Were  hot  about  me  ;  yea,  God  brake  my  bands 

To  save  my  soul  alive,  and  I  came  forth 
Like  a  man  blind  and  naked  in  strange  lands. 

That   hears   men   laugh  and  weep,  and  knows   not 

whence 
Nor  wherefore,  but  is  broken  in  his  sense  ; 

Howbeit  I  met  folk  riding  from  the  north 
Toward  Rome,  to  purge  them  of  their  soul's  offence, 

And  rode  with  them,  and  spake  to  none  ;  the  day 
Stunned  me  like  lights  upon  some  wizard  way, 

And  ate  like  fire  mine  eyes  and  mine  eyesight ; 
So  rode  I,  hearing  all  these  chant  and  pray. 

And  marvelled  ;  till  before  us  rose  and  fell 
White  cursed  hills,  like  outer  skirts  of  hell 

Seen  where  men's   eyes  look  through  the  day  to 
night. 
Like  a  jagged  shell's  lips,  harsh,  untunable. 


LAUS  VENERIS.  11 

Blown  in  between  by  devils'  wrangling  breath  ; 
Nathless  we  won  well  past  that  hell  and  death, 

Down  to  the  sweet  land  where  all  airs  are  good. 
Even  unto  Rome  where  God's  grace  tarrieth. 

Then  came  each  man  and  worshipped  at  his  knees 
AVho  in  the  Lord  Clod's  likeness  bears  the  keys 

To  bind  or  loose,  and  called  on  Christ's  shed  blood, 
And  so  the  sweet-souled  father  gave  him  ease. 

But  when  I  came  I  fell  down  at  his  feet. 
Saying,  *'  Father,  though  the  Lord's  blood  be  right 
sweet, 
The  spot  it  takes  not  off  the  panther's  skin, 
Nor  shall  an  Ethiop's  stain  be  bleached  with  it. 

'^  Lo,  I  have  sinned  and  have  spat  out  at  God,  j 

Wherefore  his  hand  is  heavier  and  his  rod  I 

More  sharp  because  of  mine  exceeding  sin,     I 

And  all  his  raiment  redder  than  bright  blood    / 

"  Before  mine  eyes  ;  yea,  for  my  sake  I  wot 
The  heat  of  hell  is  waxen  seven  times  hot 

Through   my   great  sin."     Then    spake   he  some 
sweet  word, 
Give  me  cheer  ;  which  thing  availed  me  not ; 

Yea,  scarce  I  wist  if  such  indeed  were  said  ; 
For  when  I  ceased — lo,  as  one  newly  dead 

Who  hears  a  great  cry  out  of  hell,  I  heard 
The  crying  of  his  voice  across  my  head. 

"Until  this  dry  shred  staff,  that  hath  no  whit  \ 

Of  leaf  nor  bark,  bear  blossom  and  smell  sweet,\ 

Seek  thou  not  any  mercy  in  God's  sight,  1 

For  so  long  shalt  thou  be  cast  out  from  it."       / 

Yea,  what  if  dried-up  stems  wax  red  and  green, 
Shall  that  thing  be  which  is  not  nor  has  been  ? 

Yea,  what  if  sapless  bark  wax  green  and  white. 
Shall  any  good  fruit  grow  upon  my  sin  ? 


12  LAUS  VENERIS. 

Nay,  though  sweet  fruit  were  plucked  of  a  dry  tree, 
And  though  men  drew  sweet  waters  of  the  sea, 
There  should  not  grow  sweet  leaves  on  this  dead 
stem, 
This  waste  wan  body  and  shaken  soul  of  me. 

Yea,  though  God  search  it  warily  enough, 
There  is  not  one  sound  thing  in  all  thereof  ; 

Though  he  search  all  my  veins  through,  searching 
them 
He  shall  find  nothing  whole  therein  but  love. 

For  I  came  home  right  heavy,  with  small  cheer. 
And  lo  my  love,  mine  own  soul's  heart,  more  dear 
Than  mine  own  soul,  more  beautiful  than  God, 
Who  hath  my  being  between  the  hands  of  her — 

Fair  still,  but  fair  for  no  man  saving  me, 
As  when  she  came  out  of  the  naked  sea 

Making  the  foam  as  fire  whereon  she  trod. 
And  as  the  inner  flower  of  fire  was  she. 

Yea,  she  laid  hold  upon  me,  and  her  mouth   \ 
Clove  unto  mine  as  soul  to  body  doth, 

And,  laughing,  made  her  lips  luxurious  ; 
Her  hair  had  smells  of  all  the  sunburnt  south,  ' 

Strange  spice  and  flower,  strange  savor  of  crushed 

fruit. 
And  perfume  the  swart  kings  tread  underfoot 
For  pleasure  when  their  minds  wax  amorous. 
Charred  frankincense  and. grated  sandal-root. 

And  I  forgot  fear  and  all  weary  things. 

All  ended  prayers  and  i^erished  thanksgivings, 

Feeling  her  face  with  all  her  eager  hair 
Cleave  to  me,  clinging  as  a  fire  that  clings 

To  the  body  and  to  the  raiment,  burning  them  ; 
As  after  death  I  know  that  such-like  flame 

Shall  cleave  to  me  forever  ;  yea,  what  care. 
Albeit  I  burn  then,  having  felt  the  same  ? 


PH^DRA.  13 

Ah  love,  there  is  no  better  life  than  this  ;  \ 

To  have  known  love,  how  bitter  a  thing  it  is,        \ 
And  afterward  be  cast  out  of  God's  sight  ;  \ 

Yea,  these  that  know  not,  shall  they  have  such  bliss 

High  up  in  barren  heaven  before  his  face 
As  we  twain  in  the  heavy-hearted  place. 

Remembering  love  and  all  the  dead  delight, 
And  all  that  time  was  sweet  with  for  a  space  ? 

For  till  the  thunder  in  the  trumpet  be. 
Soul  may  divide  from  body,  but  not  we 

One  from  another  ;  I  hold  thee  with  my  hand, 
I  let  mine  eyes  have  all  their  will  of  thee, 

I  seal  myself  upon  thee  with  my  might. 
Abiding  alway  out  of  all  men's  sight 
Until  God  loosen  over  sea  and  land 
The  thunder  of  the  trumpets  of  the  night. 

EXPLICIT   LAUS  VENERIS. 


PH^DRA. 

HIPPOLYTUS  ;    PH^DRA  ;   CHORUS   OF  TR^ZENIAN 
WOMEN. 


•      HIPPOLYTUS. 

Lay  not  thine  hand  upon  me  ;  let  me  go  ; 
Take  off  thine  eyes  that  put  the  gods  to  shame. 
What,  wilt  thou  turn  my  loathing  to  thy  death  ? 

PH^DRA. 

Nay,  I  will  never  loosen  hold  nor  breath 

Till  thou  have  slain  me  ;  godlike  for  great  brows 

Thou  art,  and  thewed  as  gods  are,  with  clear  hair  : 

Draw  now  thy  sword  and  smite  me  as  thou  art  god, 

For  verily  I  am  smitten  of  other  gods. 

Why  not  of  thee  ? 


14  PH^DRA. 

CHORUS. 

0  queen,  take  lioed  of  words  , 
Why  wilt  thou  eat  the  husk  of  evil  speech  ? 
Wear  wisdom  for  that  veil  about  thy  head 
Aud  goodness  for  the  binding  of  thy  brows. 

PH^DRA. 

Nay,  but  this  god  hath  cause  enow  to  smite  : 

If  he  will  slay  me,  baring  breast  and  throat, 

I  lean  toward  the  stroke  with  silent  mouth 

And  a  great  heart.     Come,  take  thy  sword  and  slay  ; 

Let  me  not  starve  between  desire  and  death. 

But  send  me  on  my  way  with  glad  wet  lips  ; 

For  in  the  vein-drawn  ashen-colored  palm 

Death's  hollow  hand  holds  water  of  sweet  draught 

To  dip  and  slake  dried  mouths  at,  as  a  deer 

Specked  red  from  thorns  laps  deep  and  loses  pain. 

Yea,  if  mine  own  blood  ran  upon  my  mouth, 

I  would  drink  that.     Nay,  but  be  swift  with  me  ; 

Set  thy  sword  here  between  the  girdle  and  breast. 

For  I  shall  grow  a  poison  if  I  live. 

Are  not  my  cheeks  as  grass,  my  body  pale. 

And  my  breath  like  a  dying  poisoned  man's  ? 

0  whatsoever  of  godlike  names  thou  be. 

By  thy  chief  name  I  charge  thee,  thou  strong  god, 
And  bid  thee  slay  me.     Strike,  up  to  the  gold. 
Up  to  the  hand-grip  of  the  hilt  ;  strike  here  ; 
For  I  am  Cretan  of  my  birth  ;  strike  now  ; 
For  I  am  Theseus'  wife  ;  stab  up  to  the  rims, 

1  am  born  daughter  to  Pasiphae. 

See  thou  spare  not  for  greatness  of  my  blood, 
Nor  for  the  shining  letters  of  my  name  : 
Make  thy  sword  sure  inside  thine  hand  and  smite, 
For  the  bright  writing  of  my  name  is  black. 
And  I  am  sick  with  hating  the  sweet  sun. 


HIPPOLYTUS. 

Let  not  this  woman  wail  and  cleave  to  me. 
That  am  no  part  of  the  gods'  wrath  with  her  ; 
Loose  ye  her  hands  from  me  lest  she  take  hurt. 


PH^DRA.  15 

CHORUS. 

Lady,  this  speech  and  majesty  are  twain  ; 
Pure  shame  is  of  one  counsel  with  the  gods. 

HIPPOLYTUS. 

Man  is  as  beast  when  shame  stands  off  from  him. 

PH^DRA. 

Man,  what  have  I  to  do  with  shame  or  thee  ? 

I  am  not  of  one  counsel  with  the  gods. 

I  am  their  kin,  I  ha,ve  strange  blood  iit  me, 

I  am  not  of  their  likeness  nor  of  thine  : 

My  veins  are  mixed,  and  therefore  am  I  mad. 

Yea,  therefore  chafe  and  turn  on  mine  own  iflesli, 

Half  a  woman  made  with  half  a  god. 

But  thou  wast  hewn  out  of  an  iron  womb 

And  fed  with  molten  mother-snow  for  milk. 

A  sword  was  nurse  of  thine  ;  Hippolyta, 

That  had  the  spear  to  father,  and  the  axe 

To  bridesman,  and  wet  blood  of  sword-slain  men 

For  wedding- water  out  of  a  noble  well, 

Even  she  did  bear  thee,  thinking  of  a  sword, 

And  thou  wast  made  a  man  mistakingly. 

Nay,  for  I  love  thee,  I  will  have  thy  hands, 

Nay,  for  I  will  not  loose  thee,  thou  art  sweet. 

Thou  art  my  son,  I  am  thy  father's  wife, 

I  ache  toward  thee  with  a  bridal  blood. 

The  pulse  is  heavy  in  all  my  married  veins, 

My  whole  face  beats,  I  will  feed  full  of  thee, 

My  body  is  empty  of  ease,  I  will  be  fed, 

I  am  burnt  to  the  bone  with  love,  thou  sha-lt  not  go, 

I  am  heartsick,  and  mine  eyelids  prick  mine  eyes. 

Thou  shalt  not  sleep  nor  eat  nor  say  a  word 

Till  thou  hast  slain  me.     I  am  not  good  to  live. 

CHORUS. 

This  is  an  evil  born  with  all  its  teeth, 
When  love  is  cast  out  of  the  bound  of  love. 

HIPPOLYTUS. 

There  is  no  hate  that  is  so  hateworthy. 


16  PH^DRA. 

PH^DRA. 

I  pray  thee  turn  that  hate  of  thine  my  way, 

I  hate  not  it  nor  any  tiling  of  thine. 

Lo,  maidens,  how  he  burns  about  the  brow, 

And  draws  the  chafing  sword-strap  down  his  hand. 

What  wilt  thou  do  ?  wilt  thou  be  worse  than  death  ? 

Be  but  as  sweet  as  is  the  bitterest. 

The  most  dispiteous  out  of  all  the  gods, 

I  am  well  pleased.     Lo,  do  I  crave  so  much  ? 

I  do  but  bid  thee  be  unmerciful, 

Even  the  one  thing  thou  art.     Pity  me  not : 

Thou  wert  not  quick  to  pity.     Think  of  me 

As  of  a  thing  thy  hounds  are  keen  upon 

In  the  wet  woods  between  the  windy  ways, 

And  slay  me  for  a  spoil.     This  body  of  mine 

Is  worth  a  wild  beast's  fell  or  hide  of  hair, 

And  spotted  deeper  than  a  panther's  grain. 

I  were  but  dead  if  thou  wert  pure  indeed  ; 

I  pray  thee  by  thy  cold  green  holy  crown 

And  by  the  fillet-leaves  of  Artemis. 

Nay,  but  thou  wilt  not.     Death  is  not  like  thee 

Albeit  men  hold  him  worst  of  all  the  gods. 

For  of  all  gods  Death  only  loves  not  gifts,* 

Nor  with  burnt-offering  nor  blood-sacrifice 

Shalt  thou  do  aught  to  get  thee  grace  of  him  ; 

He  will  have  naught  of  altar  and  altar-song, 

And  from  him  only  of  all  the  lords  in  heaven 

Persuasion  turns  a  sweet  averted  mouth. 

But  thou  art  worse  :  from  thee  with  baffled  breath 

Back  on  ray  lips  my  prayer  falls  like  a  blow, 

And  beats  upon  them,  dumb.     What  shall  I  say  ? 

There  is  no  word  I  can  compel  thee  with 

To  do  me  good  and  slay  me.     But  take  heed  ; 

I  say,  be  wary  ;  look  between  thy  feet, 

Lest  a  snare  take  them  though  the  ground  be  good. 

HIPPOLYTUS. 

Shame  may  do  most  where  fear  is  found  most  weak. 
That  which  for  shame's  sake  yet  I  have  not  done, 

*uEsch.    Fr.  Niobe  :— 

fjdvog  deuv  ydfj  OavaTog  oh  dupuv  ipa,  k.  t,  ?,, 


PH^DRA.  17 

Shall  it  be  done  for  fears  ?     Take  thine  own  way  ; 
Better  the  foot  slip  than  the  whole  soul  swerve. 

PH^DRA. 

The  man  is  choice  and  exquisite  of  mouth  ; 
Yet  in  the  end  a  curse  shall  curdle  it. 

CHORUS. 

He  goes  with  cloak  upgathered  to  the  lip. 
Holding  his  eye  as  with  some  ill  in  sight. 

PH.^DRA. 

A  bitter  ill  he  hath  i'  the  way  thereof, 
And  it  shall  burn  the  sight  out  as  with  fire. 

CHORUS. 

Speak  no  such  word  whereto  mischance  is  kin. 

PH^.DRA. 

Out  of  my  heart  and  by  fate's  leave  I  speak. 

CHORUS- 

Set  not  thy  heart  to  follow  after  fate. 

PH^DRA. 

0  women,  0  sweet  people  of  this  land, 

0  goodly  city  and  pleasant  ways  thereof, 

And  woods  with  pasturing  grass  and  great  well-heads, 
And  hills  with  light  and  night  between  your  leaves. 
And  winds  with  sound  and  silence  in  your  lips. 
And  earth  and  water  and  all  immortal  things, 

1  take  you  to  my  witness  what  I  am. 
There  is  a  god  about  me  like  as  fire. 

Sprung  whence,  who  knoweth,  or  who  hath  heart  to 

say  ? 
A  god  more  strong  than  whom  slain  beasts  can  soothe, 
Or  honey,  or  any  spilth  of  blood-like  wine. 
Nor  shall  one  please  him  with  a  whitened  brow 
Nor  wlieat  nor  wool  nor  aught  of  plaited  leaf. 
For  like  my  mother  am  I  stung  and  slain, 


18  PH^DRA. 

And  ronnd  my  cheeks  have  such  red  malady 

And  on  my  lips  such  fire  and  foam  as  hers. 

This  is  that  Ate  out  of  Amathus 

That  breeds  up  death  and  gives  it  one  for  love. 

She  hath  slain  mercy,  and  for  dead  mercy's  sake 

(Being  frighted  with  this  sister  that  was  slain) 

Flees  from  before  her  fearful-footed  shame. 

And  will  not  bear  the  bending  of  her  brows 

And  long  soft  arrows  flown  from  under  them 

As  from  bows  bent.     Desire  flows  out  of  her 

As  out  of  lips  doth  speech  :  and  over  her 

Shines  fire,  and  round  her  and  beneath  her  fire. 

She  hath  sown  pain  and  plague  in  all  our  house. 

Love  loathed  of  love,  and  mates  unmatchable, 

Wild  wedlock,  and  the  lusts  that  bleat  or  low. 

And  marriage-fodder  snuffed  about  of  kine. 

Lo  how  the  heifer  runs  with  leaping  flank 

Sleek  under  shaggy  and  speckled  lies  of  hair, 

And  chews  a  horrible  lip,  and  with  harsh  tongue 

Laps  alien  froth  and  licks  a  loath lier  mouth. 

Alas,  a  foul  first  steam  of  trodden  tares, 

And  fouler  of  these  late  grapes  underfoot. 

A  bitter  way  of  waves  and  clean-cut  foam 

Over  the  sad  road  of  sonorous  sea 

The  high  gods  gave  king  Theseus  for  no  love, 

Xay,  but  for  love,  yet  to  no  loving  end. 

Alas  the  long  thwarts  and  the  fervent  oars, 

And  blown   hard  sails  that  straightened   the  scant 

rope  ! 
There  were  no  strong  pools  in  the  hollow  sea 
To  drag  at  them  and  suck  down  side  and  beak, 
No  wind  to  catch  them  in  the  teeth  and  hair, 
No  shoal,  no  shallow  among  the  roaring  reefs. 
No  gulf  whereout  the  straining  tides  throw  spars, 
No  surf  where  white  bones  twist  like  whirled  white 

fire. 
But  like  to  death  he  came  with  death,  and  sought 
And  slew  and  spoiled  and  gat  him  that  he  would. 
For  death,  for  marriage,  and  for  child-getting, 
I  set  my  curse  against  him  as  a  sword  ; 
Yea,  and  the  severed  half  thereof  1  leave 
Pittheus,  because  he  slew  not  (whem  that  face 
Was  tender,  and  the  life  still  soft  in  it) 


^       THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  19 

The  small  swathed  child,  but  bred  him  for  my  fate. 
I  would  I  had  been  the  first  that  took  her  death 
Out  from  between  wet  hoofs  and  reddened  teeth. 
Splashed  horns,  fierce  fetlocks  of  the  brother  bull  ! 
For  now  shall  I  take  death  a  deadlier  way. 
Gathering  it  up  between  the  feet  of  love 
Or  off  the  knees  of  murder  reaching  it. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

Before  our  lives  divide  forever. 

While  time  is  with  us  and  hands  are  free 

(Time,  swift  to  fasten  and  swift  to  sever 
Hand  from  hand,  as  we  stand  by  the  sea), 

I  will  say  no  word  that  a  man  might  say 

Whose  whole  life's  love  goes  down  in  a  day  ; 

For  this  could  never  have  been  ;  and  never. 
Though  the  gods  and  the  years  relent,  shall  be. 

Is  it  worth  a  tear,  is  it  worth  an  hour, 

To  think  of  things  that  are  well  outworn  ? 

Of  fruitless  husk  and  fugitive  flower, 

The  dream  foregone  and  the  deed  forborne  ? 

Though  joy  be  done  with  and  grief  be  vain, 

Time  shall  not  sever  us  wholly  in  twain  ; 

Earth  is  not  spoilt  for  a  single  shower  ; 
But  the  rain  has  ruined  the  ungrown  corn. 

It  willgro  \v^  not  again,  this  fruit  of  my  hearty 

Smitten  wTtli  suiilbeams,  ruined  with  rain. 
The  singing  seasons  divide  and  depart, 
Winter  and  summer  depart  in  twain. 
IjLwill  grow  not  again,  it  is  ruined  at  root, 
T  lieHTootUike  bloss  o  m ,  the  dull  red  fruit ; 
Though  the  heart  yet  sickens,  tjie_lips  yet  smart^ 
_With  sullen  savor  of  poisonous  pain. 

I  have  given  no  man  of  my  fruit  to  eat ; 

I  trod  the  grapes,  I  have  drunken  the  wine. 
Had  you  eaten  and  drunken  and  found  it  sweet, 

This  wild  new  growth  of  the  corn  and  vine. 


20  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

This  wine  and  bread  without  lees  or  leaven, 
We  had  grown  as,  gods  as  the  gods  in  heaven. 
Souls  fair  to  look  upon,  goodly  to  greet, 
Oue_spleudid  j^pji'it^  your  snnl  and  mine. 

In  the  change  of  years,  in  the  coil  of  things, 

In  the  clamor  and  rumor  of  life  to  be. 
We,  drinking  love  at  the  furthest  springs, 

Covered  with  love  as  a  covering  tree, 
Wp  had  gr'^wn  as  gods,  as  the  gods  above, 
Filled  from  the  heart  to  the  lips  with  love, 
Held  fast  in  his  hands,  clothed  warm  with  his  wings. 
0  love,  my  love,  had  you  loved  but  me  ! 

We  had  stood  as  the  sure  stars  stand,  and  moved 
As  the  moon  moves,  loving  the  world  ;  and  seen 

Grief  collapse  as  a  thing  disproved, 
\     Death  consume  as  a  thing  unclean. 

Twain  halves  of  a  perfect  heart,  madefast 

Soul  to  soul  while  the  years  fell  past ; 

Had  you  loved  me  once,  as  you  have  not  loved  ; 
Had  the  chance  been  with  us  that  has  not  been. 

I  have  put  my  days  and  dreams  out  of  mind, 
Days  that  are  over,  dreams  that  are  done. 
Though  we  seek  life  through,  we  shall  surely  find 
There  is  none  of  them  clear  to  us  now,  not  one. 
But  clear  are  these  things  ;  the  grass  and  the  sand 
Where,  sure  as  the  eyes  reach,  ever  at  hand, 
With  lips  wide  open  and  face  burnt  blind. 
The  strong  sea-daisies  feast  on  the  sun. 

The  low  downs  lean  to  the  sea  ;  the  stream. 
One  loose  thin  pulseless  tremulous  vein, 

Rapid  and  vivid  and  dumb  as  a  dream. 

Works  downward,  sick  of  the  sun  and  the  rain  ; 

No  wind  is  rough  with  the  rank  rare  flowers  ; 

The  sweet  sea,  mother  of  loves  and  hours. 

Shudders  and  shines  as  the  gray  winds  gleam. 
Turning  her  smile  to  a  fugitive  pain. 

Mother  of  loves  tliat  are  swift  to  fade. 

Mother  of  mutable  winds  and  hours, 
A  barren  mother,  a  mother-maid, 

Cold  and  clean  as  her  faint  salt  flowers. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  21 

I  would  we  twain  Avere  even  as  she, 
Lost  in  the  night  and  the  light  of  the  sea. 
Where  faint  sounds  falter  and  wan  beams  wade. 
Break,  and  are  broken,  and  shed  into  showers. 

The  loves  and  hours  of  the  life  of  a  man, 

They  are  swift  and  sad,  being  born  of  the  sea. 

Hours  that  rejoice  and  regret  for  a  span. 
Born  with  a  man's  breath,  mortal  as  he  ; 

Loves  that  are  lost  ere  they  come  to  birth. 

Weeds  of  the  wave,  without  fruit  upon  earth. 

I  lose  what  I  long  for,  save  what  I  can. 
My  love,  my  love,  and  no  love  for  me  ! 

It  is  not  much  that  a  man  can  save 

On  the  sands  of  life,  in  the  straits  of  time. 

Who  swims  in  sight  of  the  great  third  wave 
That  never  a  swimmer  shall  cross  or  climb. 

Some  waif  washed  up  with  the  strays  and  spars 

That  ebb-tide  shows  to  the  shore  and  the  stars  ; 

Weed  from  the  water,  grass  from  a  grave, 
A  broken  blossom,  a  ruined  rhyme. 

There  will  no  man  do  for  your  sake,  I  think. 
What  I  would  have  done  for  the  least  word  said. 

I  had  wrung  life  dry  for  your  lips  to  drink. 
Broken  it  up  for  your  daily  bread  : 

Body  for  body  and  blood  for  blood. 

As  the  flow  of  the  full  sea  risen  to  flood 

That  yearns  and  trembles  before  it  sink, 

I  had  given,  and  lain  down  for  you,  glad  and  dead. 

Yea,  hope  at  highest  and  all  her  fruit. 

And  time  at  fullest  and  all  his  dower, 
I  had  given  you  surely,  and  life  to  boot, 

Were  we  once  made  one  for  a  single  hour. 
But  now,  you  are  twain,  you  are  cloven  apart. 
Flesh  of  his  flesh,  but  heart  of  my  heart ; 
And  deep  in  one  is  the  bitter  root. 

And  sweet  for  one  is  the  lifelong  flower. 

To  have  died  if  you  cared  I  should  die  for  yon,  clung 
To  my  life  if  you  bade  me,  played  my  part 

As  it  pleased  you — these  were  tlie  thoughts  that  stung. 
The  dreams  that  smote  with  a  keener  dart 


22  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

Thau  shafts  of  love  or  arrows  of  death  ; 
These  were  but  as  fire  is,  dust,  or  breath. 
Or  poisonous  foam  on  the  tender  tongue 
Of  the  little  snakes  that  eat  my  heart. 

1  wish  we  were  dead  together  to-day, 
Lost  sight  of,  hidden  away  out  of  sight, 

Clasped  and  clothed  in  the  cloven  clay. 
Out  of  the  world's  way,  out  of  the  light. 

Out  of  the  ages  of  worldly  weather, 

Forgotten  of  all  men  altogether. 

As  the  world's  first  dead,  taken  wholly  away. 
Made  one  Avith  death,  filled  full  of  the  night. 

How  we  should  slumber,  how  we  should  sleep. 
Far  in  the  dark  with  the  dreams  and  the  dews 

And  dreaming,  grow  to  each  other,  and  weep. 
Laugh  low,  live  softly,  murmur  and  muse  ; 

Yea,  and  it  may  be,  struck  through  by  the  dream. 

Feel  the  dust  quicken  and  quiver,  and  seem 

Alive  as  of  old  to  the  lips,  and  leap 
Spirit  to  spirit  as  lovers  use. 

•Sick  dreams  and  sad  of  a  dull  delight  ; 
■     For  what  shall  it  profit  when  men  are  dead 
To  have  dreamed,  to  have  loved  with  the  whole  soul's 
[  might. 

To  have  looked  for  day  when  the  day  was  fled  ? 
Let  come  what  will,  there  is  one  thing  worth, 
To  have  had  fair  love  in  the  life  upon  earth  : 
To  have  held  love  safe  till  the  day  grew  night, 
While  skies  had  color  and  lips  were  red. 

Would  I  lose  you  now  ?  would  I  take  you  then. 

If  I  lose  you  now  that  my  heart  has  need  ? 
And  come  what  may  after  death  to  men, 

What  thing  worth  this  will  the  dead  years  breed  ? 
Lose  life,  lose  all  ;  but  at  least  I  know, 
0  sweet  life's  love,  having  loved  you  so, 
Had  I  reached  you  on  earth,  I  should  lose  not  again, 
In  death  nor  life,  nor  in  dream  or  deed. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  23 

Yea,  I  know  this  well  :  were  you  once  sealed  mine, 
Mine  in  the  blood's  beat,  mine  in  the  breath, 

Mixed  into  me  as  honey  in  wine, 

Not  time  that  sayeth  and  gainsayeth, 

Nor  all  strong  things  had  severed  us  then  ; 

Not  wrath  of  gods,  nor  wisdom  of  men, 

Nor  all  things  earthly,  nor  all  divine, 
Nor  joy  nor  sorrow,  nor  life  nor  death. 

I  had  grown  pure  as  the  dawn  and  the  dew. 
You  had  grown  strong  as  the  sun  or  the  sea. 

But  none  shall  triumph  a  whole  life  through  : 
For  death  is  one,  and  the  fates  are  three. 

At  the  door  of  life,  by  the  gate  of  breath, 

There  are  worse  things  waiting  for  men  than  death  ;' 
\  Death  could  not  sever  my  soul  and  you, 
As  these  have  severed  your  soul  from  me. 

You  have  chosen  and  clung  to  he  tchance  they  sent 
you. 

Life  sweet  as  perfume  and  pure  as  prayer. 
But  Avill  it  not  one  day  in  heaven  repent  you  ? 

Will  they  solace  you  wholly,  the  days  that  were  ? 
Will  you  lift  up  your  eyes  between  sadness  and  bliss, 
Meet  mine,  and  see  where  the  great  love  is. 
And  tremble  and  turn  and  be  changed  ?     Content 
you  ;  _ 

The  gate  is  strait  ;  I  shall  not  be  there. 

But  you,  had  you  chosen,  had  you  stretched  hand. 
Had  you  seen  good  such  a  thing  were  done, 

I  too  might  have  stood  with  the  souls  that  stand 
In  the  sun's  sight,  clotlied   with  the  light  of  the 
sun  ; 

But  who  now  on  earth  need  care  how  I  live  ? 

Have  the  high  gods  anything  left  to  give, 

Save  dust  and  laurels  and  gold  and  sand  ? 
Which  gifts  are  goodly  ;  but  I  will  none. 

O  all  fair  lovers  about  tlie  world. 

There  is  none  of  you,  none,  that  shall  comfort  me. 
My  thoughts  are  as  dead  things,  wrecked  and  whirled 

liouud  and  round  iu  a  gulf  of  the  sea ; 


24  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

And  still,  throngli  the  sound  and  the  straining  stream, 
Through  the  coil  and  chafe,  they  gleam  in  a  dream. 
The  bright  fine  lips  so  cruelly  curled. 
And  strange  swift  eyes  where  the  soul  sits  free. 

Free,  without  pity,  withheld  from  woe. 

Ignorant ;  fair  as  the  eyes  are  fair. 
Would  I  have  you  change  now,  change  at  a  blow. 

Startled  and  stricken,  awake  and  aware  ? 
Yea,  if  I  could,  would  I  have  you  see 
My  very  love  of  you  filling  me. 
And  know  my  soul  to  the  quick,  as  I  know 

The  likeness  and  look  of  your  throat  and  hair  ? 

I  shall  not  change  you.     Nay,  though  I  might. 
Would  I  change  my  sweet  one  love  with  a  word  ? 

I  had  rather  your  hair  should  change  in  a  night. 
Clear  now  as  the  jDlume  of  a  black  bright  bird  ; 

Your  face  fail  suddenly,  cease,  turn  gray. 

Die  as  a  leaf  that  dies  in  a  day. 

I  will  keep  my  soul  in  a  place  out  of  sight. 
Far  off,  where  the  pulse  of  it  is  not  heard. 

Far  off  it  walks,  in  a  bleak  blown  space, 
Full  of  the  sound  of  the  sorrow  of  years. 

I  have  woven  a  veil  for  the  weeping  face. 
Whose  lips  have  drunken  the  wii\e  of  tears  ; 

I  have  found  a  way  for  the  failing  feet, 

A  place  for  slumber  and  sorrow  to  meet ; 

There  is  no  rumor  about  the  place. 
Nor  light,  nor  any  that  sees  or  hears. 

I  have  hidden  my  soul  out  of  sight,  and  said 

"  Let  none  take  pity  upon  thee,  none 
Comfort  thy  crying  :  for  lo,  thou  art  dead, 
Lie  still  now,  safe  out  of  sight  of  the  snn. 
Have  I  not  built  thee  a  grave,  and  wrought 
Thy  grave-clothes  on  thee  of  grievous  thought. 
With  soft  spun  verses  and  tears  unshed, 
And  sweet  light  visions  of  things  undone  ? 

"  I  have  given  thee  garments  and  balm  and  myrrh, 
And  gold,  and  beautiful  burial  things. 

But  thou,  be  at  peace  now,  make  no  stir  ; 
Is  not  thy  grave  as  a  royal  king's  ? 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  25 

Fret  not  thyself  though  the  end  were  sore  ; 
Sleep,  be  patient,  vex  me  no  more. 
Sleep ;  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  her  ? 
The  eyes  that  weep,  with  the  mouth  that  sings  ?  " 

Where  the  dead  red  leaves  of  the  years  lie  rotten. 

The  cold  old  crimes  and  the  deeds  thrown  by. 
The  misconceived  and  the  misbegotten, 

I  would  find  a  sin  to  do  ere  I  die. 
Sure  to  diss'oTve  and  destroy  me  all  through, 
That  would  set  you  higher  in  lieaven,  serve  you 
And  leave  you  happy,  when  clean  forgotten. 
As  a  dead  man  out  of  mind,  am  I. 

Your  lithe  hands  draw  me,  your  face  burns  through 
me, 

I  am  swift  to  follow  you,  keen  to  see  ; 
But  love  lacks  might  to  redeem  or  undo  me. 

As  I  have  been,  I  know  I  shall  surely  be  ; 
"  What  should  such  fellows  as  I  do  ?"     Nay, 
My  part  were  worse  if  I  chose  to  play  ; 
For  the  worst  is  this  after  all ;  if  they  knew  me, 

Not  a  soul  upon  earth  would  pity  me. 

And  I  play  not  for  pity  of  these  ;  but  you. 
If  you  saw  with  your  soul  what  man  am  I, 

You  would  praise  me  at  least  that  my  soul  all  through 
Clove  to  you,  loathing  the  lives  that  lie  ; 

The  souls  and  lips  that  are  bought  and  sold. 

The  smiles  of  silver  and  kisses  of  gold, 

The  lapdog  loves  that  whine  as  they  chew. 
The  little  lovers  that  curse  and  cry. 

There  are  fairer  women,  I  hear  ;  that  may  be  ; 

But  I,  that  I  love  you  and  find  you  fair. 
Who  are  more  than  fair  in  my  eyes  if  they  be, 

Do  the  high  gods  know  or  the  great  gods  care  ? 
Though  the  swords  in  my  heart  for  one  were  seven, 
Would  the  iron  hollow  of  doubtful  heaven. 
That  knows  not  itself  whether  night-time  or  day  be. 

Reverberate  words  and  a  foolish  prayer  ? 


26  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

I  will  go  back  to  the  great  sweet  mother. 

Mother  and  lover  of  men,  the  sea, 
I  will  go  down  to  her,  I  and  none  other. 

Close  with  her,  kiss  her  and  mix  her  with  me  ; 
Cling  to  her,  strive  with  her,  hold  her  fast ; 
0  fair  white  mother,  in  days  long  past 
Born  without  sister,  born  without  brother, 

Set  free  my  soul  as  thy  soul  is  free. 

/   0  fair  green-girdled  mother  of  mine, 
I        Sea,  that  art  clothed  with  the  sun  and  the  rain, 
\    Thy  sweet  hard  kisses  are  strong  like  wine, 
i        Thy  large  embraces  are  keen  like  pain. 
1    Save  me  and  hide  me  with  all  thy  waves, 
Find  me  one  grave  of  thy  thousand  graves, 
Those  pure  cold  populous  graves  of  thine, 

Wrought  without  hand  in  a  world  without  stain. 

Jshn,]]  sippp    and  move  with  the  moving  ships. 

Change  as  the  winds  change,  veer  in  the  tide  ; 
My  lips  will  feast  on  the  foam  of  thy  lips, 

I  shall  rise  with  thy  rising,  with  thee  subside  ; 
Sleep,  and  not  know  if  she  be,  if  she  were, 
Filled  full  with  life  to  the  eyes  and  hair. 
As  a  rose  is  fulfilled  to  the  roseleaf  tips 

With  splendid  summer  and  perfume  and  pride. 

This  woven  raiment  of  nights  and  days. 

Were  it  once  cast  off  and  unwound  from  me. 
Naked  and  glad  would  I  walk  in  thy  ways. 

Alive  and  aware  of  thy  ways  and  thee  ; 
Clear  of  the  whole  world,  hidden  at  home. 
Clothed  with  the  green  and  crowned  with  the  foam, 
A  pulse  of  the  life  of  thy  straits  and  bays, 
A  vein  in  the  heart  of  the  streams  of  the  sea. 

f  Fair  mother,  fed  with  the  lives  of  men, 
;      Thou  art  subtle  and  cruel  of  heart,  men  say 
I  Thou  hast  taken,  and  shalt  not  render  again  ; 
V      Thou  art  full  of  thy  dead,  and  cold  as  they. 
Euf,  dpa.th  is  the  AVOTst^that  comes  of  tjiee  ; 
Thou  art  fed  with  ouFdead,  O  mother^  0  sea, 
j  I  But  when  hast  thou  fed  on  our  hearts  ?  or  when, 
I  \     Having  given  us  love,  hast  thou  taken  away  ? 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  27 

0  tender-hearted,  0  perfect  lover, 

Thy  lips  are  bitter,  and  sweet  thine  heart. 

The  hopes  that  hurt  and  the  dreams  that  hover, 
Shall  they  not  vanish  away  and  apart  ? 

But  thou,  thou  art  sure,  thou  art  older  than  earth  ; 

Thou  are  strong  for  death  and  fruitful  of  birth  ; 

Thy  depths  conceal  and  thy  gulfs  discover  ; 
From  the  first  thou  wert ;  in  the  end  thou  art. 

And  grief  shall  endure  not  forever,  I  know. 

As  things  that  are  not  shall  these  things  be  ; 
We  shall  live  through  seasons  of  sun  and  of  snow. 

And  none  be  grievous  as  this  to  me. 
We  shall  hear,  as  one  in  a  trance  that  hears, 
The  sound  of  time,  the  rhyme  of  the  years  ; 
Wrecked  hope  and  passionate  pain  will  grow 

As  tender  things  of  a  spring-tide  sea. 

Sea-fruit  that  swings  in  the  waves  that  hiss. 
Drowned  gold  and  purple  and  royal  rings. 
And  all  time  past,  was  it  all  for  this  ? 

Times  unforgotten,  and  treasures  of  things  ? 
Swift  years  of  liking  and  sweet  long  laughter. 
That  wist  not  well  of  the  years  thereafter 
Till  love  woke,  smitten  at  heart  by  a  kiss, 
With  lips  that  trembled  and  trailing  wings  ? 

There  lived  a  singer  in  France  of  old 

By  the  tideless  dolorous  midland  sea. 
In  a  land  of  sand  and  ruin  and  gold 

There  shone  one  woman,  and  none  but  she. 
And  finding  life  for  her  love's  sake  fail, 
Being  fain  to  see  her,  he  bade  set  sail. 
Touched  land,  and  saw  her  as  life  grew  cold. 

And  praised  God,  seeing  ;  and  so  died  he. 

Died,  praising  God  for  his  gift  and  grace  : 

For  she  bowed  down  to  him  weeping,  and  said 
"  Live  ; "  and  her  tears  were  shed  on  his  face 

Or  ever  the  life  in  his  face  was  shed. 
The  sharp  tears  fell  through  her  hair,  and  stung 
Once,  and  her  close  lips  touched  him  and  clung 
Once,  and  grew  one  with  his  lips  for  a  space ; 
And  so  drew  back,  and  the  man  was  dead. 


28  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

0  brother,  the  gods  were  good  to  you. 
Sleep,  and  be  glad  while  the  world  endures. 

Be  well  content  as  the  years  wear  through 

Give  thanks  for  life,  and  the  loves  and  lures  ; 
Give  thanks  for  life,  0  brother,  and  death, 
For  the  sweet  last  sound  of  her  feet,  her  breath. 
For  gifts  she  gave  you,  gracious  and  few, 
Tears  and  kisses,  that  lady  of  yours. 

Rest,  and  be  glad  of  the  gods  ;  but  I, 

How  shall  I  praise  them,  or  how  take  rest  ? 

There  is  not  room  under  all  the  sky 
For  me  that  know  not  of  worst  or  best, 

Dream  or  desire  of  the  days  before. 

Sweet  things  or  bitterness,  any  more. 

Love  will  not  come  to  me  now  though  I  die, 
As  love  came  close  to  you,  breast  to  breast. 

1  shall  never  be  friends  again  with  roses  ; 

I  shall  loathe  sweet  tunes,  where  a  note  grown  strong 
Relents  and  recoils,  and  climbs  and  closes, 

As  a  wave  of  the  sea  tvirned  back  by  song. 
There  are  sounds  where  the  souFs  delight  takes  fire, 
Face  to  face  with  its  own  desire  ; 
A  delight  that  rebels,  a  desire  that  reposes  ; 

I  shall  hate  sweet  music  my  whole  life  long. 

The  pulse  of  war  and  passion  of  wonder, 

The  heavens  that  murmur,  the  sounds  that  shine. 

The  stars  that  sing  and  the  loves  that  thunder. 
The  music  burning  at  heart  like  wine, 

An  armed  archangel  whose  hands  raise  up 

All  senses  mixed  in  the  spirit's  cup 

Till  flesh  and  spirit  are  molten  in  sunder — 
These  things  are  over,  and  no  more  mine. 

These  were  a  part  of  the  playing  I  heard 

Once,  ere  my  love  and  my  heart  were  at  strife  ; 

Love  that  sings  and  hath  wings  as  a  bird, 
Balm  of  the  wound  and  heft  of  the  knife. 

Fairer  than  earth  is  the  sea,  and  sleep 

Than  overwatching  of  eyes  that  weep. 

Now  time  has  done  with  his  one  sweet  word, 
The  wine  and  leaven  of  lovely  life. 


LES  NOYADES.  29 

I  shall  go  my  ways,  tread  out  my  measure, 

Fill  the  days  of  my  daily  breath 
With  fugitive  things  not  good  to  treasure. 
"*  1)0  as  tiie  world  doth,  say  as  it  saith_r^ 
BiIFif  we  had  loved  each  other — 0  sweet. 
Had  you  felt,  lying  under  the  palms  of  your  feet, 
The  heart  of  my  heart,  beating  harder  with  pleasure 

To  feel  you  tread  it  to  dust  and  death — 

Ah,  had  I  not  taken  my  life  up  and  given 
All  that  life  gives  and  the  years  let  go, 

The  wine  and  honey,  the  balm  and  leaven. 

The  dreams  reared  high  and  the  hopes  brought  low? 

Come  life,  come  death,  not  a  word  be  said  ; 

Should  I  lose  you  living,  and  vex  you  dead  ? 

I  never  shall  tell  you  on  earth  ;  and  in  heaven. 
If  I  cry  to  you  then,  will  you  hear  or  know  ? 


LES  NOYADES. 

Whatever  a  man  of  the  sons  of  men 
Shall  say  to  his  heart  of  the  lords  above, 

They  have  shown  man  verily,  once  and  again. 
Marvellous  mercies  and  infinite  love. 

In  the  wild  fifth  year  of  the  change  of  things, 
When  France  was  glorious  and  blood-red,  fair 

With  dust  of  battle  and  deaths  of  kings, 
A  queen  of  men,  with  helmeted  hair  ; 

Carrier  came  down  to  the  Loire  and  slew. 
Till  all  the  ways  and  the  waves  waxed  red  : 

Bound  and  drowned,  slaying  two  by  two. 
Maidens  and  young  men,  naked  and  wed. 

They  brought  on  a  day  to  his  judgment-place 
One  rough  witli  labor  and  red  with  fight, 

And  a  lady  noble  by  name  and  face. 
Faultless,  a  maiden,  wonderful,  white. 


30  LES  NOYADES. 

She  knew  not,  being  for  shame's  sake  blind. 
If  his  eyes  were  hot  on  her  face  hard  by. 

And  the  judge  bade  strip  and  ship  them,  and  bind 
Bosom  to  bosom,  to  drown  and  die. 

The  white  girl  winced  and  whitened  ;  but  he 

Caught  fire,  waxed  bright  as  a  great  bright  flame 

Seen  with  thunder  far  out  on  the  sea, 

Laughed  hard  as  the  glad  blood  weiit  and  came. 

Twice  his  lips  quailed  with  delight,  then  said, 
"  I  have  but  a  word  to  you  all,  one  word 

Bear  with  me  ;  surely  I  am  but  dead  ;  " 

And  all  they  laughed  and  mocked  him  and  heard. 

"  Judge,  when  they  open  the  judgment-roll 
I  will  stand  upright  before  God  and  pray  : 

'  Lord  God,  have  mercy  on  one  man's  soul. 
For  his  mercy  was  great  upon  earth,  I  say. 

"  '  Lord,  if  I  loved  thee — Lord,  if  I  served — 
If  these  who  darkened  thy  fair  Son's  face 

I  fought  with,  sparing  not  one,  nor  swerved 

A  hand's-breadth,  Lord,  in  the  perilous  place — 

"  '  I  pray  thee  say  to  this  man,  0  Lord, 
Sit  thou  for  him  at  my  feet  on  a  throne. 

I  will  face  thy  wrath,  though  it  bite  as  a  sword. 
And  my  soul  shall  burn  for  his  soul,  and  atone. 

"  '  For,  Lord,  thou  knowest,  0  God  most  wise. 
How  gracious  on  earth  were  his  deeds  toward  me. 

Shall  this  be  a  small  thing  in  thine  eyes. 

That  is  greater  in  mine  than  the  whole  great  sea  ?* 

"  I  have  loved  this  woman  my  whole  life  long, 
And  even  for  love's  sake  when  have  I  said 

'  I  love  you  ? '  when  have  I  done  you  wrong. 
Living  ?  but  now  I  shall  have  you  dead. 

*'  Yea,  now,  do  I  bid  you  love  me,  love  ? 

Love  me  or  loathe,  we  are  one  not  twain. 
But  God  be  praised  in  his  heaven  above 

For  this  my  pleasure  and  that  my  pain  I 


A  BALLAD  OP  LIFE.  31 

"  For  never  a  man,  being  mean  like  me, 
Shall  die  like  me  till  the  whole  world  dies. 

I  shall  drown  with  her,  laughing  for  love ;  and  she 
Mix  with  me,  touching  me,  lips  and  eyes. 

"  Shall  she  not  know  me  and  see  me  all  through. 
Me,  on  whose  heart  as  a  worm  she  trod  ? 

You  have  given  me,  God  requite  it  you, 
A¥hat  man  yet  never  was  given  of  God." 

0  sweet  one  love,  0  my  life's  delight. 
Dear,  though  the  days  have  divided  us, 

Lost  beyond  hope,  taken  far  out  of  sight. 

Not  twice  in  the  world  shall  the  gods  do  thus. 

Had  it  been  so  hard  for  my  love  ?  but  I, 

Though  the  gods  gave  all  that  a 'god  can  give, 

1  had  chosen  rather  the  gift  to  die, 
Cease,  and  be  glad  above  all  that  live. 

For  the  Loire  would  have  driven  us  down  to  the  sea. 
And  the  sea  would  have  pitched  us  from  shoal  to 
shoal ; 

And  I  should  have  held  you,  and  you  held  me. 
As  flesh  holds  flesh,  and  the  soul  the  soul. 

Could  I  change  you,  help  you  to  love  me,  sweet. 
Could  I  give  you  the  love  that  would  sweeten  death. 

We  should  yield,  go  down,  locked  hands  and  feet. 
Die,  drown  together,  and  breath  catch  breath  t 

But  you  would  have  felt  my  soul  in  a  kiss. 
And  known  that  once  if  t  loved  you  well  ; 

And  I  would  have  given  my  soul  for  this 
To  burn  forever  in  burning  hell. 


A  BALLAD  OF  LIFE. 

I  FOUND   in  dreams  a  jilace  of  wind  and  flowers. 
Full  of  sweet  trees  and  color  of  glad  grass. 
In  midst  whereof  there  was 

A  lady  clothed  like  summer  with  sweet  hours. 


32  A  BALLAD  OF  LIFE. 

Her  beauty,  fervent  as  a  fiery  moon, 
Made  my  blood  burn  and  swoon 

Like  a  flame  rained  upon. 
Sorrow  had  filled  her  shaken  eyelids  blue, 
And  her  mouth's  sad  red  heavy  rose  all  through 

Seemed  sad  with  glad  things  gone. 

She  held  a  little  cithern  by  the  strings. 

Shaped  heartwise,  strung  with  subtle-colored  hair 

Of  some  dead  lute  player 
That  in  dead  years  had  done  delicious  things. 
The  seven  strings  were  named  accordingly  ; 

The  first  string  charity. 
The  second  tenderness. 
The  rest  were  pleasure,  sorrow,  sleep,  and  sin. 
And  loving  kindness,  that  is  pity's  kin 
And  is  most  pitiless. 

There  were  three  men  with  her,  each  garmented 
With  gold  and  shod  with  gold  upon  the  feet ; 
And  with  plucked  ears  of  wheat. 

The  first  man's  hair  was  wound  upon  his  head  : 

His  face  was  red,  and  his  mouth  curled  and  sad ; 
All  his  gold  garment  had 
Pale  stains  of  dust  and  rust. 

A  riven  hood  Avas  pulled  across  his  eyes  ; 

The  token  of  him  being  upon  this  wise 
Made  for  a  sign  of  Lust. 

The  next  was  Shame,  with  hollow  heavy  face 
Colored  like  green  wood  when  flame  kindles  it. 
He  hath  such  feeble  feet 

They  may  not  well  endure  in  any  place. 

His  face  was  full  of  gray  old  miseries. 
And  all  his  blood's  increase 
Was  even  increase  of  pain. 

The  last  was  Fear,  that  is  akin  to  Death  ; 

He  is  Shame's  friend,  and  always  as  Shame  saith 
Fear  answers  him  again. 

My  soul  said  in  me  ;  This  is  marvellous. 
Seeing  the  air's  face  is  not  so  delicate 
Nor  the  sun's  grace  so  great. 

If  sin  and  she  be  kin  or  amorous. 


A  BALLAD  OF  LIFE.  33 

And  seeing  where  maidens  served  her  on  their  knees 
I  bade  one  crave  of  these 

To  know  the  cause  thereof. 
Then  Fear  said  :  I  am  Pity  that  was  dead. 
A.nd  Shame  said:  I  am  Sorrow  comforted. 

And  Lust  said  :  I  am  Love. 

Thereat  her  hands  began  a  hite-playiug 

And  her  sweet  mouth  a  song  in  a   strange  tongue  ; 
And  all  the  while  she  sung 

There  was  no  sound  but  long  tears  following 

Long  tears  upon  men's  faces,  waxen  white 
With  extreme  sad  delight. 

But  those  three  following  men 

Became  as  men  raised  ujt  among  the  dead  ; 

Great  glad  mouths  open,  and  fair  cheeks  made  red 
With  child's  blood  come  again. 

Then  I  said  :  Now  assuredly  I  see 

My  lady  is  perfect,  and  transfigureth 

All  sin  and  sorrow  and  death. 
Making  them  fair  as  her  own  eyelids  be. 
Or  lips   wherein  my  whole  soul's  life  abides  j 

Or  as  her  sweet  white  sides 
And  bosom  carved  to  kiss. 
Now  therefore,  if  her  pity  further  me. 
Doubtless  for  her  sake  all  my  days  shall  be 
As  righteous  as  she  is. 

Forth,  ballad,  and  take  roses  in  both  arms. 

Even  till  the  top  rose  touch  thee  in  the  throat 
Where  the  least  thornprick  harms  ; 

And  girdled  in  thy  golden  singing-coat. 
Come  thou  before  my  lady  and  say  this  ; 
Borgia,  thy  gold  hair's  color  burns  in  me. 

Thy  mouth    makes   beat  my   blood   in   feverish 
rhymes  ; 
Therefore  so  many  as  these  roses  be, 
Kiss  me  so  many  times. 
Then  it  may  be,  seeing  how  sweet  she  is. 
That  she  will  stoop  herself  none  otherwise 

Than  a  blown  vine-branch  doth. 
And  kiss  thee  with  soft  laughter  on  thine  eyes, 
Ballad,  and  on  thy  mouth. 

3 


34  A  BALLAD  OF  DEATH. 


A    BALLAD     OF    DEATH. 

Kneel  down,  fair  Love,  and  fill  thyself  with  tears, 

Girdle  thyself  with  sighing  for  a  girth 

Upon  the  sides  of  mirth, 

Cover  thy  lips  and  eyelids,  let  thine  ears 

Be  filled  with  rumor  of  people  sorrowing  ; 

Make  thee  soft  raiment  out  of  woven  sighs 

Upon  the  flesh  to  cleave, 

Set  pains  therein  and  many  a  grievous  thing, 

And  many  sorrows  after  each  his  wise 

For  armlet  and  for  gorget  and  for  sleeve. 

0  Love's  lute  heard  about  the  lands  of  death. 

Left  hanged  upon  the  trees  that  were  therein  ; 

0  Love  and  Time  and  Sin, 

Three  singing  mouths  that  mourn  now  under  breath. 

Three  lovers,  each  one  evil  spoken  of ; 

0  smitten  lips  wherethrough  this  voice  of  mine 

Came  softer  with  her  praise  ; 

Abide  a  little  for  our  lady's  love. 

The  kisses  of  her  mouth  were  more  than  wine, 

And  more  than  peace  the  passage  of  her  days. 

0  Love,  thou  knowest  if  she  were  good  to  see. 

0  Time,  thou  shalt  not  find  in  any  land 

Till,  cast  out  of  thine  hand. 

The  sunlight  and  the  moonlight  fail  from  thee, 

Another  woman  fashioned  like  as  this. 

0  Sin,  thou  knowest  that  al'  thy  shame  in  her 

Was  made  a  goodly  thing  ; 

Yea,  she  caught  Shame  and  shamed  him  with  her  kiss, 

AVitli  her  fair  kiss,  and  lips  much  lovelier 

Than  lips  of  amorous  roses  in  late  spring. 

By  night  there  stood  over  against  my  bed 
Queen  Venus  with  a  hood  striped  gold  and  black. 
Both  sides  drawn  fully  back 
From  brows  wherein  the  sad  blood  failed  of  red. 
And  temples  drained  of  purple  and  full  of  death. 
Her  curled  hair  had  the  wave  of  sea-water 
And  the  sea's  gold  in  it. 


A  BALLAD  OF  DEATH.  35 

Her  eyes  were  as  a  clove's  that  sickeneth. 
Strewn  dust  of  gold  she  had  shed  over  her, 
And  pearl  and  purple  and  amber  on  her  feet. 

Upon  her  raiment  of  dyed  sendaline 

Were  painted  all  the  secret  ways  of  love 

And  covered  things  thereof. 

That  hold  delight  as  grape-flowers  hold  their  wine  ; 

Red  months  of  maidens  and  red  feet  of  doves, 

And  brides  that  kept  within  the  bride-chamber 

Their  garment  of  soft  shame. 

And  weeping  faces  of  the  wearied  loves 

That  swoon  in  sleep  and  awake  wearier. 

With  heat  of  lips  and  hair  shed  out  like  flame. 

The  tears  that  through  her  eyelids  fell  on  me 

Made  mine  own  bitter  where  they  ran  between 

As  blood  had  fallen  therein. 

She  saying  ;  Arise,  lift  up  thine  eyes  and  see 

If  any  glad  thing  be  or  any  good 

Now  the  best  thing  is  taken  forth  of  us  ; 

Even  she  to  whom  all  praise 

Was  as  one  flower  in  a  great  multitude, 

One  glorious  flower  of  many  and  glorious. 

One  day  found  gracious  among  many  days  : 

Even  she  whose  handmaiden  was  Love — to  whom 

At  kissing  times  across  her  stateliest  bed 

Kings  bowed  themselves  and  shed 

Pale  wine,  and  honey  with  the  honeycomb. 

And  spikenard  -bruised  for  a  burnt-ofiiering  ; 

Even  she  between  whose  lijis  the  kiss  became 

As  fire  and  frankincense  ; 

Whose  hair  was  as  gold  raiment  on  a  king, 

Whose  eyes  were  as  the  morning  purged  with  flame, 

Whose  eyelids  as  sweet  savor  issuing  thence. 

Then  I  beheld,  and  lo  on  the  other  side 

My  lady's  likeness  crowned  and  robed  and  dead. 

Sweet  still,  but  now  not  red. 

Was  the  shut  mouth  whereby  men  lived  and  died. 

Aud  sweet,  but  emptied  of  the  blood's  blue  shade, 


36  A  BALLAD  OF  DEATH. 

The  great  curled  eyelids  that  withheld  her  eyes. 
And  sweet,  but  like  spoilt  gold. 
The  weight  of  color  in  her  tresses  weighed. 
And  sweet,  but  as  a  vesture  with  new  dyes, 
The  body  that  was  clothed  with  love  of  old. 

Ah  !  that  my  tears  filled  all  her  woven  hair 

And  all  the  hollow  bosom  of  her  gown — 

Ah  !  that  my  tears  ran  down 

Even  to  the  place  where  many  kisses  were. 

Even  where  her  parted  breast-flowers  have  place. 

Even  where  they  are  cloven    apart — who  knows  not 

this  ? 
A.h  !  the  flowers  cleave  apart 
And  their  sweet  fills  the  tender  interspace  ; 
Ah  !  the  leaves  grown  thereof  were  tilings  to  kiss 
Ere  their  fine  gold  was  tarnished  at  the  heart. 

Ah  !  in  the  days  when  God  did  good  to  me, 

Each  part  about  her  was  a  righteous  thing  ; 

Her  mouth  an  almsgiving. 

The  glory  of  her  garments  charity. 

The  beauty  of  her  bosom  a  good  deed, 

In  the  good  days  when  God  kej^t  sight  of  us  ; 

Love  lay  upon  her  eyes, 

And  on  that  hair  whereof  the  world  takes  heed  : 

And  all  her  body  was  more  virtuous 

Than  souls  of  women  fashioned  otherwise. 

Now,  ballad,  gather  poppies  in  thine  hands 

And  sheaves  of  brier  and  many  rusted  sheaves 

Rain-rotten  in  rank  lands. 

Waste  marigold  and  late  unhappy  leaves 

And  grass  that  fades  ere  any  of  it  be  mown  ; 

And  when  thy  bosom  is  filled  full  thereof 

Seek  out  Death's  face  ere  the  light  altereth, 

And  say  "  My  master  that  was  thrall  to  Love 

Is  become  thrall  to  Death." 

Bow  down  before  him,  ballad,  sigh  and  groan. 

But  make  no  sojourn  in  thy  outgoing  ; 

For  haply  it  may  be 

That  when  thy  feet  return  at  evening 

Death  shall  come  in  with  thee. 


A  LEAVE-TAKING.  37 


A  LEAVE-TAKING. 

Let  us  go  hence,  my  songs  :  she  will  not  hear  ; 
Let  us  go  hence  together  without  fear. 
Keep  silence  now,  for  singing-time  is  over, 

And  over  all  old  things  and  all  things  dear. 
She  loves  not  you  nor  me  as  all  we  love  her  : 
Yea,  though  we  sang  as  angels  in  her  ear. 
She  would  not  hear. 

Let  us  rise  up  and  part :  she  will  not  know. 
Let  us  go  seaward  as  the  great  winds  go. 
Full  of  blown  sand  and  foam.     What  help  is  there  ? 
There  is  no  help,  for  all  these  things  are  so. 
And  all  the  world  is  bitter  as  a  tear. 
And  how  these  things  are,  though  ye  strove  to  show. 
She  would  not  know. 

Let  us  go  home  and  hence  :  she  will  not  weep. 
We  gave  love  many  dreams  and  days  to  keep. 
Flowers  v/ithout  scent,   and  fruits  that  would  not 

grow, 
Saying,    "  If  thou   wilt,   thrust  in   thy   sickle,    and 

reap." 
All  is  reaped  now  ;  no  grass  is  left  to  mow  : 
And  we  that  sowed,  though  all  we  fell  on  sleep. 
She  would  not  weep. 

Let  us  go  hence  and  rest :  she  Avill  not  love. 
She  shall  not  hear  us  if  we  sing  hereof, 
Nor  see  love's  ways,  how  sore  they  are  and  steep. 
Come  hence,  let  be,  lie  still ;  it  is  enough. 
Love  is  a  barren  sea,  bitter  and  deep  ; 
And,  though  she  saw  all  heaven  in  flower  above. 
She  would  not  love. 

Let  us  give  up,  go  down  :  she  will  not  care. 
Though  all  the  stars  made  gold  of  all  the  air. 
And  the  sea  moving  saw  before  it  move 
One  moon-flower  making  all  the  foam-flowers  fair  ; 
Though  all  those  waves  went  over  us,  and  drove 
Deep  down  the  stifling  lips  and  drowning  hair, — 
She  would  not  care. 


38  ITYLUS. 

Let  us  go  hence,  go  lience  :  she  will  not  see. 

Sing  all  once  more  together ;  surely  she, 

She  too,  remembering  days  and  words  that  were, 

Will  turn  a  little  toward  us,  sighing  ;  but  we. 

We  are  hence,  we  are  gone,  as  though  we  had  not 

been  there. 
Nay,  and  though  all  men  seeing  had  pity  on  me. 
She  would  not  see. 


ITYLUS. 

Swallow,  my  sister,  0  sister  swallow, 

How  can  thine  heart  be  full  of  the  spring  ? 
A  thousand  summers  are  over  and  dead. 
What  hast  thou  found  in  the  spring  to  follow  ? 
What  hast  thou  found  in  thine  heart  to  sing  ? 
What  Avilt  thou  do  when  the  summer  is  shed  ? 

0  swallow,  sister,  0  fair  swift  swallow, 

Why  wilt  thou  fly  after  spring  to  the  south, 
The  soft  south  whither  thine  heart  is  set  ? 
Shall  not  the  grief  of  the  old  time  follow  ? 

Shall  not  the  song  thereof  cleave  to  thy  mouth  ? 
Hast  thou  forgotten  ere  I  forget  ? 

Sister,  my  sister,  0  fleet  sweet  swallow. 

Thy  Avay  is  long  to  the  sun  and  the  south  ; 

But  I,  fulfilled  of  my  heart's  desire. 

Shedding  my  song  upon  height,  upon  hollow, 

From  tawny  body  and  sweet  small  mouth 

Feed  the  heart  of  the  night  with  fire. 

1  the  nightingale  all  spring  through, 

0  swallow,  sister,  0  changing  swallow, 
All  spring  through  till  the  spring  be  done. 
Clothed  with  the  light  of  the  night  on  the  dew. 

Sing,  while  the  hours  and  tlie  wild  birds  follow, 
Take  flight  and  follow  and  find  the  sun. 


ITYLUS.  39 

Sister,  my  sister,  0  soft,  light  swallow, 

Thongh  all    things  feast  in   the    sj)ring's    gnest- 
chamber. 
How  hast  thou  heart  to  be  glad  thereof  yet  ? 
For  where  thou  fliest  I  shall  not  follow. 
Till  life  forget,  and  death  remember. 
Till  thou  remember,  and  I  forget. 

Swallow,  my  sister,  0  singing  swallow, 
I  know  not  how  thou  hast  heart  to  sing. 
Hast  thou  the  heart  ?  is  it  all  past  over  ? 
Thy  lord  the  summer  is  good  to  follow. 
And  fair  the  feet  of  thy  lover  the  spring  ; 

But  what  wilt  thou  say  to  the  spring  thy  lover  ? 

0  swallow,  sister,  0  fleeting  swallow, 
My  heart  in  me  is  a  molten  ember. 

And  over  my  head  the  waves  have  met. 
But  thou  wouldst  tarry,  or  I  would  follow, 
Could  I  forget,  or  thou  remember, 
Couldst  thou  remember,  and  I  forget. 

0  sweet  stray  sister,  0  shifting  swallow, 
The  heart's  division  dividetli  us. 

Thy  heart  is  light  as  a  leaf  of  a  tree  ; 
But  mine  goes  fortb,  among  sea-gulfs  hollow. 
To  the  place  of  the  slaying  of  Itylus, 
The  feast  of  Daulis,  the  Thraciau  sea. 

0  swallow,  sister,  0  rapid  swallow, 
I  pray  thee  sing  not  a  little  space. 

Are  not  the  roofs  and  the  lintels  wet  ? 
The  woven  web  that  was  plain  to  follow, 
The  small  slain  body,  the  flower-like  face. 
Can  I  remember  if  thou  forget  ? 

0  sister,  sister,  thy  first-begotten  ! 

The  hands  tliat  oling  and  the  feet  that  follow. 

The  voice  of  tlie  child's  blood  crying  yet. 
Who  Jiafh  remembered  me  ?      Who  hath  forgotten? 
Thou  hast  forgotten,  0  summer  swallow. 
But  the  world  shall  end  when  I  forgot. 


40  RONDEL— A  LTTANY. 


RONDEL. 

These  many  years  since  we  began  to  be, 

What  have  the  gods  done  with  us  ?  what  with  me, 

\yhat  with  my  love  ?     They  have  shown  me  fates  and 

fears. 
Harsh  springs,  and  fountains  bitterer  than  the  sea, 
Grief  a  fixed  star,  and  joy  a  vane  that  veers, 
These  many  years. 

With  her,  my  love,  with  her  have  they  done  well  ? 
But  who  shall  answer  for  her  ?  who  shall  tell 
Sweet  things  or  sad,  such  things  as  no  man  hears  ? 
May  no  tears  fall,  if  no  tears  ever  fell. 
From  eyes  more  dear  to  me  than  starriest  spheres 
These  many  years  ! 

But  if  tears  ever  touched,  for  any  grief, 
Those  eyelids  folded  like  a  white-i*ose  leaf, 
Deep  double  shells  wherethrough  the  eye-flower  peers. 
Let  them  weep  once  more  only,  sweet  and  brief, 
Brief  tears  and  bright,  for  one  who  gave  her  tears 
These  many  years. 

A  LITANY. 

FIRST    ANTIPHONE. 

All  the  bright  lights  of  heaven 

I  will  make  dark  over  thee  ; 
One  night  shall  be  as  seven. 

That  its  skirts  may  cover  thee  ; 
I  will  send  on  thy  strong  men  a  sword. 

On  thy  remnant  a  rod  : 
Ye  shall  know  that  I  am  the  Lord, 

Saith  the  Lord  God. 

SECOND  ANTIPHONE. 

All  the  bright  lights  of  heaven 
Thou  hash  made  dark  over  us  ; 

One  niglit  has  been  as  seven, 
That  its  skirt  might  cover  us  : 


A  LITANY.  41 

Thou  hast  sent  on  our  strongmen  a  sword. 

On  our  remnant  a  rod  : 
We  know  that  thou  art  the  Lord, 

0  Lord  our  God  ! 

THIRD    ANTIPHONE. 

As  the  tresses  and  wings  of  the  wind 

Are  scattered  and  shaken, 
I  will  scatter  all  them  that  have  sinned  : 

There  shall  none  be  taken  ; 
As  a  sower  that  scattereth  seed, 

So  will  I  scatter  them  ; 
As  one  breaketh  and  shatteretli  a  reed, 

1  will  break  and  shatter  them. 

FOURTH   ANTIPHONE. 

As  the  wings  and  the  locks  of  the  wind 

Are  scattered  and  shaken, 
Thou  hast  scattered  all  them  that  have  sinned  : 

There  was  no  man  taken  ; 
As  a  sower  that  scattereth  seed, 

So  hast  thou  scattered  us  ; 
As  one  breaketh  and  shattereth  a  reed. 

Thou  hast  broken  and  shattered  us. 

FIFTH    ANTIPHONE. 

From  all  thy  lovers  that  love  thee, 

I  God  will  sunder  tliee  ; 
I  will  make  darkness  above  thee, 

And  thick  dark]iess  under  thee  ; 
Before  me  goeth  a  light, 

Behind  me  a  sword  : 
Shall  a  remnant  find  grace  in  my  sight  ? 

I  am  the  Lord. 

SIXTH  AXTIPHONE. 

From  all  our  lovers  that  love  us. 

Thou  God  didst  sunder  us  ; 
Thou  madest  darkness  above  us, 

And  thick  darkness  under  us  ; 


42  A  LITANY. 

Thou  hast  kindled  thy  Avrath  for  a  light. 

And  made  ready  thy  sword  : 
Let  a  remnant  find  grace  in  thy  sight. 

We  beseech  thee,  0  Lord  ! 

SEVENTH    ANTIPHONE. 

Wilt  thou  bring  fine  gold  for  a  payment 

For  sins  on  this  wise  ? 
For  the  glittering  of  raiment. 

And  the  shining  of  eyes, 
For  the  painting  of  faces, 

And  the  sundering  of  trust. 
For  the  sins  of  thine  high  places 

And  delight  of  thy  lust  ? 

For  your  high  things  ye  shall  have  lowly. 

Lamentation  for  song  ; 
For,  behold,  I  God  am  holy, 

I  the  Lord  am  strong. 
Ye  shall  seek  me,  and  shall  not  reach  me 

Till  the  wine-press  be  trod  ; 
In  that  hour  ye  shall  turn,  and  beseech  me, 
Saith  the  Lord  God. 

EIGHTH    ANTIPHOKE. 

Not  with  fine  gold  for  a  payment. 

But  with  coin  of  sighs. 
But  with  rending  of  raiment. 

And  with  weeping  of  eyes. 
But  with  shame  of  stricken  faces. 

And  with  strewing  of  dust. 
For  the  sin  of  stately  places 

And  lordship  of  lust ; 

With  voices  of  men  made  lowly. 

Made  empty  of  song, 
0  Lord  God  most  holy, 

0  God  most  strong. 
We  reach  out  hands  to  reach  thee 

Ere  the  wine-press  be  trod  ; 
We  beseech  thee.  0  Lord,  we  beseech  thee, 

0  Lord  our  God  ! 


A  LITANY.  4:« 


NISTTH    ANTIPHON"E. 


In  that  hour  thou  shalt  say  to  the  night. 

Come  down  and  cover  us  ; 
To  the  cloud  on  thy  left  and  thy  right. 

Be  thou  spread  over  us. 
A  snare  shall  be  as  thy  mother, 

And  a  curse  thy  bride  ; 
Thou  shalt  put  her  away,  and  another 

Shall  lie  by  thy  side. 

Thou  shalt  neither  rise  np  by  day. 

Nor  lie  down  by  night. 
Would  God  it  were  dark  !  thou  shalt  say  ; 

Would  God  it  were  light  ! 
And  the  sight  of  thine  eyes  shall  be  made 

As  the  burning  of  fire  ; 
And  thy  soul  shall  be  sorely  afraid 

For  thy  soul's  desire. 

Ye  whom  your  lords  loved  well, 

Putting  silver  and  gold  on  you, 
The  inevitable  hell 

Shall  surely  take  hold  on  you  ; 
Your  gold  shall  be  for  a  token, 

Your  staff  for  a  rod  ; 
With  the  breaking  of  bands  ye  are  broken 

Saith  the  Lord  God. 

TENTH    ANTIPHONE. 

In  our  sorrow  we  said  to  the  night. 

Fall  down  and  cover  us  ; 
To  the  darkness  at  left  and  at  right. 

Be  thou  shed  over  us. 
We  had  breaking  of  spirit  to  mother. 

And  cursing  to  bride  ; 
And  one  was  slain,  and  another 

Stood  up  at  our  side. 

We  could  not  arise  by  day. 

Nor  lie  down  by  night ; 
Thy  sword  was  sharp  in  our  way. 

Thy  word  in  our  sight  ; 


44  A  LAMENTATION. 

The  delight  of  our  eyelids  was  made 

As  the  burning  of  fire, 
And  our  souls  became  sorely  afraid 

For  our  soul's  desire. 


We  whom  the  world  loved  well, 

Laying  silver  and  gold  on  us, 
The  kingdom  of  death  and  of  hell 

Riseth  up  to  take  hold  on  us  ; 
Our  gold  is  turned  to  a  token, 

Onr  staff  to  a  rod  : 
Yet  shalt  thou  bind  them  up  that  were  broken, 

0  Lord  our  God  ! 


A  LAMENTATION. 

I. 

Who  hath  known  the  ways  of  time, 
Or  trodden  behind  his  feet  ? 

Tliere  is  no  such  man  among  men. 
For  chance  overcomes  him,  or  crime 
Changes  ;  for  all  things  sweet 
In  time  wax  bitter  again. 
Who  shall  give  sorrow  enough, 

Or  who  the  abundance  of  tears  ? 
Mine  eyes  are  heavy  with  love. 

And  a  sword  gone  through  mine  ears, 
A  sound  like  a  sword  and  fire. 
For  pity,  for  great  desire  ; 
Who  shall  insure  me  thereof. 

Lest  I  die,  being  full  of  my  fears  ? 

Who  hath  known  the  ways  and  the  wrath. 

The  sleepless  spirit,  the  root 
And  blossom  of  evil  will. 
The  divine  device  of  a  god  ? 
Who  shall  behold  it,  or  hath  ? 

The  twice-tongued  prophets  are  mute. 
The  many  speakers  are  still ; 
No  foot  has  travelled  or  trod. 


A  EAMENTATION.  4^ 

No  hand  has  meted,  his  path. 
Man's  fate  is  a  blood-red  fruit, 

And  the  mighty  gods  have  their  fill 
And  relax  not  the  rein,  or  the  rod. 

Ye  were  mighty  in  heart  from  of  old. 

Ye  slew  with  the  spear,  and  are  slain. 
Keen  after  heat  is  the  cold, 

Sore  after  summer  is  rain, 
And  melteth  man  to  the  bone. 

As  water  he  weareth  away, 

As  a  flower,  as  an  hour  in  a  day. 
Fallen  from  laughter  to  moan. 
But  my  spirit  is  shaken  with  fear 

Lest  an  evil  thing  begin, 
New-born,  a  spear  for  a  spear. 

And  one  for  another  sin. 
Or  ever  our  tears  began, 

It  was  known  from  of  old  and  said  ; 
One  law  for  a  living  man. 

And  another  law  for  the  dead 
For  these  are  fearful  and  sad. 

Vain,  and  things  without  breath  ; 
While  he  lives  let  a  man  be  glad. 

For  none  hath  joy  of  his  death. 


II. 

Who  hath  known  the  pain,  the  old  pain  of  earth. 

Or  all  the  travail  of  the  sea. 
The  many  ways  and  Avaves,  the  birth 
Fruitless,  the  labor  nothing  worth  ? 

Who  hath  known,  who  knoweth,  0  gods  ?  not  we. 

There  is  none  shall  say  he  hath  seen. 

There  is  none  he  hath  known. 
Though  he  saith,  Lo,  a  lord  have  I  been, 

I  have  reaped  and  sown  ; 
I  have  seen  the  desire  of  mine  eyes, 

The  beginning  of  love. 
The  season  of  kisses  and  sighs. 

And  the  end  thereof. 


46  A  LAMENTATION. 

I  have  known  tlie  ways  of  the  sea, 

All  the  perilous  ways  ; 
Strange  winds  have  spoken  with  me, 

And  the  tongues  of  strange  days. 
I  have  hewn  the  pine  for  ships  ; 

Where  steeds  run  arow, 
I  have  seen  from  their  bridled  lips 

Foam  blown  as  the  snow. 
With  snapping  of  chariot-poles 

And  with  straining  of  oars 
I  have  grazed  in  the  race  the  goals. 

In  the  storm  the  shores  ; 
As  a  greave  is  cleft  with  an  arrow 

At  the  joint  of  the  knee, 
I  have  cleft  through  the  sea-straits  narrow 

To  the  heart  of  the  sea. 
When  air  was  smitten  in  sunder, 

I  have  watched  on  high 
The  ways  of  the  stars  and  the  thunder 

In  the  night  of  the  sky  ; 
Where  the  dark  brings  forth  light  as  a  flower. 

As  from  lips  that  dissever  ; 
One  abideth  the  space  of  an  hour. 

One  endureth  forever. 
Lo,  what  hath  he  seen  or  known 

Of  the  way  and  the  wave 
Unbeholden,  unsailed-on,  unsown, 

From  the  breast  to  the  grave  ? 


Or  ever  the  stars  were  made,  or  skies, 
Grief  was  born,  and  the  kinless  night. 
Mother  of  gods  without  form  or  name. 
And  light  is  born  out  of  heaven,  and  dies. 
And  one  day  knows  not  another's  light ; 
But  night  is  one,  and  her  shape  the  same. 
But  dumb  the  goddesses  underground 

Wait,  and  we  hear  not  on  earth  if  their  feet  _ 
Rise,  and  the  night  wax  loud  with  their  wings  ; 
Dumb,  without  word  or  shadow  of  sound  ; 
And  sift  in  scales,  and  winnow  as  wheat 
Men's  souls,  and  sorrow  of  manifold  things. 


ANAMI  ANCEPS.  47 

III. 

Nor  less  of  grief  than  ours 
The  gods  wrought  long  ago 
To  bruise  men  one  by  one  ; 
But  with  the  incessant  hours 
Fresh  grief  and  greener  woe 
Spring,  as  the  sudden  sun 
Year  after  year  makes  flowers  ; 
And  these  die  down  and  grow, 
And  the  next  year  lacks  none. 

As  these  men  sleep,  have  slept 
The  old  heroes  in  time  fled, 
No  dream-divided  sleep  ; 
And  holier  eyes  have  wept 
Than  ours,  when  on  her  dead 
Gods  have  seen  Thetis  weep, 
With  heavenly  hair  far-swept 
Back,  heavenly  hands  out-spread 
Kound  what  she  could  not  keep. 

Could  not  one  day  withhold. 
One  night ;  and  like  as  these 
White  ashes  of  no  weight, 
Held  not  his  urn  the  cold 
Ashes  of  Heracles  ? 

For  all  things  born,  one  gate 
Opens, — no  gate  of  gold  ; 
Opens  ;  and  no  man  sees 
Beyond  the  gods  and  fate. 


ANIMA  ANCEPS. 

Till  death  have  broken 
Sweet  life's  love-token. 
Till  all  be  spoken 

That  shall  be  said. 
What  dost  thou  praying, 
0  soul,  and  playing 
With  song  and  saying, 

Things  flown  and  fled  ? 


45  ANAMI  ANCEPS, 

For  this  we  know  not — 
That  fresh  springs  flow  not 
And  fresh  griefs  grow  not 

AVhen  men  are  dead  ; 
When  strange  years  cover 
Lover  and  lover, 
And  joys  are  over. 

And  tears  are  shed. 

If  one  day's  sorrow 
Mar  the  day's  morrow  ; 
If  man's  life  borrow. 

And  man's  death  pay  ; 
If  souls  once  taken. 
If  lives  once  shaken, 
Arise,  awaken, 

By  night,  by  day, — 
Why  with  strong  crying 
And  years  of  sighing. 
Living  and  dying, 

Fast  ye  and  pray  ? 
For  all  your  weepiiig, 
Waking  and  sleeping. 
Death  comes  to  reaping, 

And  takes  away. 
Though  time  rend  after 
Roof-tree  from  rafter, 
A  little  laughter 

Is  much  more  worth 
Than  thus  to  measure 
The  hour,  the  treasure. 
The  pain,  the  pleasure. 

The  death,  the  birth  ; 
Grief,  when  days  alter. 
Like  joy  shall  falter  ; 
Song-book  and  psalter. 

Mourning  and  mirth. 
Live  like  the  swallow  ; 
Seek  not  to  follow. 
Where  earth  is  hollow. 

Under  the  earth. 


SONG  BEFORE  DEATH— ROCOCO.  49 

SONCx  BEFOEE  DEATH. 

(from  the    FRENCH.) 

1795. 

Sweet  mother,  in  a  minute's  span 

Death  parts  thee  and  my  love  of  thee  : 

Sweet  love,  that  yet  art  living  man. 
Come  back,  true  love,  to  comfort  me. 

Back,  ah,  come  back  !  ah,  wellaway  ! 

But  my  love  comes  not  any  day. 

As  roses,  when  the  warm  West  blows. 
Break  to  full  flower,  and  sweeten  spring, 

My  soul  would  break  to  a  glorious  rose 
In  such  wise  at  his  whispei'ing. 

In  vain  I  listen  ;  wellaway  ! 

My  love  says  nothing  any  day. 

You  that  will  weej)  for  pity  of  love 
On  the  low  place  where  I  am  lain, 

I  pray  you,  having  we])t  enough, 
Tell  him  for  whom  I  bore  such  pain 

That  he  was  yet,  ah  !  wellaway  ! 

My  true  love  to  my  dying  day. 

EOCOCO. 

Take  hands,  and  part  with  laughter  ; 

Touch  lips,  and  part  with  tears  : 
Once  more  and  no  more  after, 

AVhatever  comes  with  years. 
We  twain  shall  not  re-measure 

The  ways  that  left  us  twain. 
Nor  crush  the  lees  of  pleasure 

From  sanguine  grapes  of  pain. 

We  twain  once  well  in  sunder. 

What  will  the  mad  gods  do 
For  hate  with  me,  I  wonder, 

Or  what  for  love  with  you  ? 
4 


50  ROCOCO 

Forget  them  till  November, 
And  dream  there's  April  yet ; 

Forget  that  I  remember, 
And  dream  that  I  forget. 

Time  found  our  tired  love  sleeping. 

And  kissed  away  his  breath  ; 
But  what  should  we  do  weeping 

Though  light  love  sleep  to  death  ? 
We  have  drained  his  lips  at  leisure, 

Till  there's  not  left  to  drain 
A  single  sob  of  pleasure, 

A  single  pulse  of  pain. 

Dream  that  the  lips  once  breathless 

Might  quicken  if  they  would  ; 
Say  that  the  soul  is  deathless  ; 

Dream  that  the  gods  are  good  ; 
Say  March  may  wed  September, 

And  time  divorce  regret : 
But  not  that  you  remember. 

And  not  that  I  forget. 

We  have  heard  from  hidden  places 

What  love  scarce  lives  and  hears  ; 
We  have  seen  on  fervent  faces 

The  pallor  of  strange  tears  ; 
We  have  trod  the  wine-vat's  treasure. 

Whence,  ripe  to  steam  and  stain, 
Foams  round  the  feet  of  pleasure 

The  blood-red  must  of  pain. 

Remembrance  may  recover, 

And  time  bring  back  to  time 
The  name  of  your  first  lover. 

The  ring  of  my  first  rhyme  ; 
But  rose-leaves  of  December 

The  frosts  of  June  shall  fret, 
The  day  that  you  remember. 

The  day  that  I  forget. 

The  snake  that  hides  and  hisses 
In  heaven,  we  twain  have  known 

The  grief  of  cruel  kisses, 

The  joy  whose  mouth  makes  moan  j 


A  BALLAD  OF  BURDENS.  51 

The  pulse's  pause  and  measure, 

"Where  iu  one  furtive  vein 
Throbs  through  the  heart  of  pleasure 

The  purpler  blood  of  pain. 

We  have  done  with  tears  and  treasons 

And  love  for  treason's  sake  ; 
Room  for  the  swift  new  seasons. 

The  years  that  burn  and  break. 
Dismantle  and  dismember 

Men's  days  and  dreams,  Juliette  ; 
For  love  may  not  remember, 

But  time  will  not  forget. 

Life  treads  down  love  in  flying, 

Time  withers  him  at  root ; 
Bring  all  dead  things  and  dying, 

Reaped  sheaf  and  ruined  fruit, 
Where,  crushed  by  three  days'  pressure. 

Our  three  days'   love  lies  slain  ; 
And  earlier  leaf  of  pleasure, 

And  latter  flower  of  pain. 

Breathe  close  upon  the  ashes. 

It  may  be  flame  will  leap  ; 
Unclose  the  soft  close  lashes, 

Lift  up  the  lids,  and  weep. 
Light  love's  extinguished  ember, 

Let  one  tear  leave  it  wet, 
For  one  that  you  remember. 

And  ten  that  you  forget. 


A  BALLAD  OF  BURDENS. 

The  burden  of  fair  women.     Vain  delight. 

And  love  self-slain  in  some  sweet  shameful  way, 

And  sorrowful  old  age  that  comes  by  night 
As  a  thief  comes  that  has  no  heart  by  day, 
And  change  that  finds  fair  cheeks  and  leaves  them 
gray, 

And  weariness  that  keeps  awake  for  hire. 

And  grief  that  says  w'liat  pleasure  used  to  say  : 

This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 


52  A  BALLAD  OF  BURDENS. 

The  burden  of  bought  kisses.     This  is  sore, 

A  burden  without  fruit  in  childbearing  ; 
Between  the  nightfall  and  the  dawn  threescore. 

Threescore  between  the  dawn  aha  evening. 

The  shuddering  in  thy  li]3s,  the  shuddering 
In  thy  sad  eyelids  tremulous  like  fire, 

Makes  love  seem  shameful  and  a  Avretched  thing  : 
This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 

The  burden  of  sweet  speeches.     Nay,  kneel  down. 

Cover  thy  head,  and  weep  ;  for  verily 
These  market-men  that  buy  thy  white  and  brown 

In  the  last  days  shall  take  no  thought  for  thee  ; 

In  the  last  days  like  earth  thy  face  shall  be, 
Yea,  like  sea-marsh  made  thick  witli  brine  and  mire, 

Sad  with  sick  leavings  of  the  sterile  sea  : 
This  is  the  end  of  every  man^s  desire. 

The  burden  of  long  living.     Thou  shalt  fear 

Waking,  and  sleeping  mourn  upon  thy  bed  ; 
And  say  at  night,  "  Would  God  the  day  were  here  !  " 

And  say   at  dawn,    "  Would  God   the    day  were 
dead  ! " 

With  weary  days  thou  shalt  be  clothed  and  fed, 
And  wear  remorse  of  heart  for  thine  attire. 

Pain  for  thy  girdle,  and  sorrow  upon  thine  head  : 
This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 

The  burden  of  bright  colors.     Thou  shalt  see 

Gold  tarnished,  and  the  gray  above  the  green  ; 
And  as  the  thing  thou  seest  thy  face  shall  be, 

And  no  more  as  the  thing  beforetime  seen. 

And  thou  shalt  say  of  mercy,  "It  hath  been  ;  " 
And  living,  watch  the  old  lips  and  loves  expire. 

And  talking,  tears  shall  take  thy  breath  between  : 
This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 

The  burden  of  sad  sayings.     In  that  day 

Tliou  shalt  tell  all  thy  days  and  hours,  and  tell 

Thy  times  and  ways  and  words  of  love,  and  say 
How  one  was  dear,  and  one  desirable. 
And  sweet  was  life  to  hear  and  sweet  to  smell  ; 


A  BALLAD  OF  BURDENS.  53 

But  uow  witli  liglits  reverse  the  old  hours  retire, 
And  the  hist  hour  is  shod  with  fire  from  hell  : 
This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 

The  burden  of  four  seasons.     Eain  in  spring. 
White  rain  and  wind  among  the  tender  trees  ; 

A  summer  of  green  sorrows  gathering  ; 
Eank  autumn  in  a  mist  of  miseries. 
With  sad  face  set  towards  the  year,  that  sees 

The  charred  ash  drop  out  of  the  dropping  pyre. 
And  winter  wan  with  many  maladies  ; 

This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 

The  burden  of  dead  faces.     Out  of  sight 
And  out  of  love,  beyond  the  reach  of  hands. 

Changed  in  the  changing  of  the  dark  and  light, 
They  walk  and  weep  about  the  barren  lands 
Where  no  seed  is,  nor  any  garner  stands, 

Where  in  short  breaths  the  doubtful  days  respire, 
And  time's  turned  glass  lets  through  the  sighing 
sands  : 

This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 

The  burden  of  much  gladness.     Life  and  lust 

Forsake  thee,  and  the  face  of  thy  delight  ; 
And  underfoot  the  heavy  hoar  strew^s  dust. 

And  overhead  strange  weathers  burn  and  bite  ; 

And  where  the  red  was,  lo  the  bloodless  white  ; 
And  where  truth  was,  the  likeness  of  a  liar  ; 

And  Avhere  day  was,  the  likeness  of  the  night  : 
This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 

l'envoy. 

Princes,  and  ye  whom  pleasure  quickeneth. 

Heed  well  this  rhyme  before  your  pleasure  tire  ; 

For  life  is  sweet,  but  after  life  is  death. 
This  is  the  end  of  every  man's  desire. 


54  BEFORE  THE  MIRROR. 

BEFORE  THE  MIRROR. 

(VEKSES   WRITTE]Sr  U^S^DER  A    PICTURE.) 
(INSCRIBED  TO  J.  A.  WHISTLER.) 


"White  rose  iu  red  rose-garden 

Is  not  so  white  ; 
Snowdrops  that  plead  for  pardon 

And  pine  for  fright 
Because  the  hard  East  hlows 
Over  their  maiden  rows, 

Grow  not  as  this  face  grows  from  j^ale  to  bright. 

Behind  the  veil,  forbidden, 

Shut  up  from  sight, 
Love,  is  there  sorrow  hidden. 

Is  there  delight  ? 
Is  joy  thy  dower  or  grief, 
White  rose  of  weary  leaf. 

Late  rose  whose  life  is  brief,  whose  loves  are  light  ? 

Soft  snows,  that  hard  winds  harden 

Till  each  flake  bite, 
Fill  all  the  flowerless  garden 

Whose  flowers  took  flight 
Long  since  when  summer  ceased. 
And  men  rose  up  from  feast. 

And  warm    west  wind   grew  east,  and  warm  day 
night. 

II. 

"  Come  snow,  come  wind  or  thunder 

High  up  in  air, 
I  watch  my  face,  and  wonder 

At  my  bright  hair  ; 
Naught  else  exalts  or  grieves 
The  rose  at  heart,  that  heaves 

With  love  of  her  own  leaves  and  lips  that  pair. 


BEFORE  THE  MIRROR.  55 

"  She  knows  not  loves  that  kissed  lier 

She  knows  not  where  : 
Art  thou  the  ghost,  my  sister, 

White  sister  there. 
Am  I  the  ghost,  who  knows  ? 
My  hand,  a  fallen  rose. 

Lies   snow-white   on    white  snows,  and  takes   no 
care. 

*'  I  cannot  see  what  pleasures 

Or  what  pains  were  ; 
What  pale  new  loves  and  treasures 

Xew  years  will  bear  ; 
What  beam  will  fall,  what  shower. 
What  grief  or  joy  for  dower  : 

But  one  thing   knows  the  flower, — the  flower  is 
fair." 

III. 

Glad,  but  not  flushed  with  gladness, 

Since  joys  go  by  ; 
Sad,  but  not  bent  with  sadness. 

Since  sorrows  die  ; 
Deep  in  the  gleaming  glass 
She  sees  all  past  tilings  pass, 

And  all  sweet  life  that  was  lie  down  and  lie. 

There  glowing  ghosts  of  flowers 

Draw  down,  di-aw  nigh  ; 
And  wings  of  swift  spent  hours 

Take  flight  and  fly  ; 
She  sees  by  formless  gleams. 
She  hears  across  cold  streams. 

Dead  mouths  of  many  dreams  that  sing  and  sigh. 

Face  fallen  and  white  throat  lifted, 

With  sleepless  eye 
She  sees  old  loves  that  drifted. 

She  knew  not  why, — 
01(1  loves  and  faded  fears 
Float  down  a  stream  that  hears 

The  flowing  of  all  men's  tears  beneath  the  sky. 


56     IN  MEMORY  OF  WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 

Back  to  the  flower-town,  side  by  side, 

The  bright  mouths  bring, 
New-born,  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 

Freedom  and  spring. 

The  sweet  land  laughs  from  sea  to  sea, 

Filled  full  of  sun  : 
All  things  come  back  to  her,  being  free, — 

All  things  but  one. 

In  many  a  tender  wheateu  plot 

Flowers  that  were  dead 
Live,  and  old  suns  revive  ;  but  not 

That  holier  head. 

By  this  white  wandering  waste  of  sea. 

Far  north,  I  hear 
One  face  shall  never  turn  to  me 

As  once  this  year  ; 

Shall  never  smile  and  turn  and  rest 

On  mine  as  there. 
Nor  one  most  sacred  hand  be  prest 

Upon  my  hair. 

I  came  as  one  whose  thoughts  half  linger, 

Half  run  before  ; 
The  youngest  to  the  oldest  singer 

That  England  bore. 

I  found  liim  whom  I  shall  not  find 

Till  all  grief  end, 
In  holiest  age  onr  mightiest  mind, 

Father  and  friend. 

But  thou,  if  any  thing  endure. 

If  hope  there  be, 
0  spirit  that  man's  life  left  pure, 

Man's  death  set  free. 


A  SONG  IN  TIME  OF  ORDER.  57 

Not  with  disdain  of  days  that  were 

Look  earthward  now  : 
Let  dreams  revive  the  reverend  hair. 

The  imperial  brow  ; 

Come  back  in  sleep,  for  in  the  life 

Where  thou  art  not 
We  find  none  like  thee.     Time  and  strife 

And  the  world's  lot 

Move  thee  no  more  ;  but  love  at  least. 

And  reverent  heart, 
May  move  thee,  royal  and  released, 

Soul,  as  thou  art. 

And  thou,  his  Florence,  to  thy  trust 

Receive  and  keep, 
Keep  safe  his  dedicated  dust, 

His  sacred  sleep. 

So  shall  thy  lovers,  come  from  far. 

Mix  with  thy  name, 
As  morning-star  with  evening-star. 

His  faultless  fame. 


A  SONG  IN  TIME  OF  ORDER. 
1852. 

Push  hard  across  the  sand. 

For  the  salt  wind  gathers  breath  ; 

Shoulder  and  wrist  and  hand, 
Push  hard  as  the  push  of  death. 

The  wind  is  as  iron  that  rings, 
Tlie  foam-heads  loosen  and  flee  ; 

It  swells  and  welters  and  swings, 
The  pulse  of  the  tide  of  the  sea. 

And  up  on  the  yellow  cliff 

The  long  corn  flickers  and  shakes  ; 
Push,  for  the  wind  holds  stiff. 

And  the  gunwale  dips  and  rakes. 


8  A  SONG  IN  TIME  OF  ORDER. 

Good  hap  to  the  fresh  fierce  weather, 

The  quiver  and  beat  of  the  sea  ! 
While  three  men  hold  together. 

The  kingdoms  are  less  by  three. 

Out  to  the  sea  with  her  there, 

Out  with  her  over  the  sand, 
Let  the  kings  keep  the  earth  for  their  share  ! 

We  have  done  witli  the  sharers  of  land. 

They  have  tied  the  world  in  a  tether, 
They  have  bought  over  God  with  a  fee  ; 

While  three  men  hold  together, 
The  kingdoms  are  less  by  three. 

We  have  done  with  the  kisses  that  sting. 
The  thief's  mouth  red  from  the  feast. 

The  blood  on  the  hands  of  the  king, 
And  the  lie  at  the  lips  of  the  priest. 

Will  they  tie  the  winds  in  a  tether. 

Put  a  bit  in  the  jaws  of  the  sea  ? 
While  three  men  hold  together. 

The  kingdoms  are  less  by  three. 

Let  our  flag  run  out  straight  in  the  wind  ! 

The  old  red  shall  be  floated  again 
When  the  ranks  that  are  thin  shall  be  thinned. 

When  the  names  that  were  twenty  are  ten  ; 

When  the  devil's  riddle  is  mastered, 

And  the  galley-bench  creaks  with  a  Pope, 

We  shall  see  Buonaparte  the  bastard 
Kick  heels  with  his  throat  in  a  rope. 

While  the  shepherd  sets  wolves  on  his  sheep. 
And  the  emperor  halters  his  kine. 

While  Shame  is  a  watchman  asleep, 
And  Faith  is  a  keeper  of  swine, — 

Let  the  wind  sh;^ke  our  flag  like  a  feather, 
Like  the  plumes  of  the  foam  of  the  sea  ! 

While  three  men  hold  together, 
The  kingdoms  are  less  by  three. 


A  SONG  IN  TIME  OF  REVOLUTION.  59 

All  the  world  has  its  burdens  to  bear, 
From  Cayenne  to  the  Austrian  whips  ; 

Forth,  with  the  raiu  in  our  hair 

And  the  salt  sweet  foam  in  our  lips  ; 

In  the  teeth  of  the  hard  glad  weather, 

In  the  blown  wet  face  of  the  sea  ; 
While  three  men  hold  together, 

The  kingdoms  are  less  by  three. 


A  SONG  m  TIME  OF  revolutio:n". 

18G0. 

The  heart  of  the  rulers  is  sick,  and  the  high-priest 

covers  his  head. 
For  this  is  the  song  of  the  quick  that  is  heard  in  the 

ears  of  the  dead. 

The  poor  and  the  halt  and  the  blind  are  keen  and 

mighty  and  fleet  : 
Like  the  noise  of  the  blowing  of  wind  is  the  sound 

of  the  noise  of  their  feet. 

The  wind  has  the  sound  of  a  laugh  in  the  clamor  of 

days  and  of  deeds  : 
The  priests  are  scattered  like  chafi:,  and  the  rulers 

broken  like  reeds. 

The  high-priest  sick  from  qualms,  with   his  raiment 

bloodily  dashed  ; 
The   thief    with  branded  palms,  and  the  liar   with 

cheeks  abashed. 

They  are  smitten,  they  tremble  greatly,  they  are 
pained  for  their  pleasant  things  : 

For  the  house  of  the  priests  made  stately,  and  the 
might  in  the  mouth  of  the  kings. 

They  are  grieved  and  greatly  afraid  ;  they  are  taken, 

they  shall  not  flee  : 
For  the  heart  of  the  nations  is  made  as  the  strength 

of  the  springs  of  the  sea. 


60  A  SONG  IN  TIME  OF  REVOLUTION. 

They  were  fair  in  the  grace  of  gold,  they  walked 

with  delicate  feet  ; 
They  were  clothed  with  the  cunning  of  old,  and  the 

smell  of  their  garments  was  sweet. 

For  the  breaking  of  gold  in  their  hair  they  halt  as  a 

man  made  lame  : 
They  are  utterly  naked  and  bare  ;  their  mouths  are 

bitter  with  shame. 

Wilt  thou  judge  thy  people  now,  0  king  that  wast 
found  most  wise  ? 

Wilt  thou  lie  any  more,  0  thou  whose  mouth  is  emp- 
tied of  lies  ? 

Shall  God  make  a  pact  with  thee,  till  his  hook  be 

found  in  thy  sides  ? 
Wilt  thou  put  back  the  time  of  the  sea,  or  the  place 

of  the  season  of  tides  ? 

Set  a  word  in  thy  lips,  to  stand  before  God  with  a 

word  in  thy  mouth  : 
That  "the  rain  shall  return  in  the  land,  and   the 

tender  dew  after  drouth."' 

But  the  arm  of  the  elders  is  broken,  their  strengthis 

unbound  and  undone  : 
They  wait  for  a  sign  of  a  token  ;  they  cry,  and  there 

Cometh  none. 

Their  moan  is  in  every  place,  the  cry  of  them  filleth 

the  land  : 
There  is  shame  in  the  sight   of  their  face,  there  is 

fear  in  the  thews  of  their  hand. 

They  are  girdled  about  the  reins  with  a  curse  for  the 

girdle  thereon  : 
For  the  noise  of  the  rending  of  chains,  the  face  of 

their  color  is  gone. 

For    the   sound   of  the  shouting   of  men,  they   are 

grievously  stricken  at  heart : 
They  are  smitten  asunder  with  pain,  their  bones  are 

smitten  apart. 


A  SONG  IN  TIME  OF  REVOLUTION.  61 

There  is  none  of  them  all  that  is  whole  ; 

their  lips  gape  open  for  breath  : 
They  are  clothed  with  sickness  of  soul,  and  the  shape 

of  the  shadow  of  death. 

The  wind  is   thwart  in  their  feet ;  it  is  full  of  the 

shouting  of  mirth  ; 
As  one  shaketh  the  sides  of  a  sheet,  so  it  shaketh  the 

ends  of  the  earth. 

The  sword,  the  sword  is  made  keen  ;  the  iron  has 

opened  its  mouth  ; 
The  corn  is  red  that  was  green  ;  it  is  bound  for  the 

sheaves  of  the  south. 

The  sound  of  a  word  was  shed,  the  sound  of  the 

wind  as  a  breath, 
In  the  ears  of  the  souls  that  were  dead,  in  the  dust 

of  the  deepness  of  death  ; 

Where  the  face  of  the  moon  is  taken,  the  ways  of  the 

stars  undone. 
The  light  of  the  whole  sky  shaken,  the  light  of  the 

face  of  the  sun  ; 

Where  the  waters  are  emptied  and  broken,  the  waves 

of  the  waters  are  stayed  ; 
Where  God  has  bound  for  a  token  the  darkness  that 

maketh  afraid  ; 

Where  the  sword  was  covered  and  hidden,  and  dust 

had  grown  in  its  side, 
A  word  came  forth  that  was  bidden,  the  crying  of 

one  that  cried  : 

The  sides  of  the  two-edged  sword  shall  he  bare,  and 

its  mouth  shall  be  red. 
For  the  breath  of  the  face  of  the  Lord  that  is  felt  in 

the  bones  of  the  dead. 


02  TO  VICTOR  HUGO. 


TO  VICTOE  HUGO. 

Ik  the  fair  days  when  god 

By  man  as  godlike  trod. 
And  each  alike  was  Greek,  alike  was  free, 

God's  lightning  spared,  they  said, 

Alone  the  happier  head 
Whose  laurels  screened  it  ;  fruitless  grace  for  thee 

To  whom  the  high  gods  gave  of  right 
Their  thunders  and  their  laurels  and  their  light. 

Sunbeams  and  bays  before 

Onr  master's  servants  wore. 
For  these  Apollo  left  in  all  men's  lands  ; 

But  far  from  these  ere  now, 

And  watched  with  jealous  brow, 
Lay  the  blind  lightnings  shut  between  God's  hands. 

And  only  loosed  on  slaves  and  kings 
The  terror  of  the  tempest  of  their  wings. 

Born  in  these  younger  years 

That  shone  with  storms  of  spears, 
And  shook  in  the  wind  blown  from  a  dead  world's 
pyre. 

When  by  her  back-blown  hair 

Napoleon  caught  the  fair 
And  fierce  Eepublic  with  her  feet  of  fire. 

And  stayed  with  iron  Avords  and  hands 
Her  flight,  and  freedom  in  a  thousand  lands  : 

Thou  sawest  the  tides  of  things 

Close  over  heads  of  kings. 
And  thine  hand  felt  the  thunder,  and  to  thee 

Laurels  and  lightnings  were 

As  sunbeams  and  soft  air 
Mixed  each  in  other,  or  as  mist  with  sea 

Mixed,  or  as  memory  with  desire. 
Or  the  lute's  pulses  with  the  louder  lyre. 

For  thee  man's  spirit  stood 
Disrobed  of  flesh  and  blood. 


TO  VICTOR  HUGO.  f{3 

And  bare  the  heart  of  the  most  secret  hours  ; 

And  to  tliine  hand  more  tame 

Than  birds  in  winter  came 
High  hopes  and  unknown  flying  forms  of  powers, 

And  from  thy  table  fed,  and  sang 
Till  with  the  tune  men's  ears  took  fire  and  rang. 

Even  all  men's  eyes  and  ears 

With  fiery  sound  and  tears 
Waxed  hot,   and  cheeks  caught   flame  and   eyelids 
light, 

At  those  high  songs  of  thine 

That  stung  the  sense  like  wine. 
Or  fell  more  soft  than  dew  or  snow  by  night. 

Or  wailed  as  in  some  flooded  cave 
Sobs  the  strong  broken  spirit  of  a  wave. 

But  we,  our  master,  we 

Whose  hearts,  uplift  to  thee. 
Ache  with  the  pulse  of  thy  remembered  song, — 

We  ask  not  nor  await 

From  the  clinched  hands  of  fate, 
As  thou,  remission  of  the  world's  old  wrong  ; 

Respite  we  ask  not,  no  release  : 
Freedom  a  man  may  have,  he  shall  not  peace. 

Though  thy  most  fiery  hope 

Storm  heaven,  to  set  wide  ope 
The  all-sought-for  gate  whence  God  or  chance  debars 

All  feet  of  men,  all  eyes — 

The  old  night  resumes  her  skies. 
Her  hollow  hiding-place  of  clouds  and  stars. 

Where  naught  save  these  is  sure  in  sight. 
And,  paven  with  death,  our  days  are  roofed  Avith 
night. 

One  thing  we  can  :  to  be 

Awhile,  as  men  may,  free  ; 
But  not  by  hope  or  })leasure  the  most  stern 

Goddess,  most  awful-eyed. 

Sits,  but  0"!  either  side 
Sits  sorrow  and  the  wrath  of  hearts  that  burn. 

Sad  faith  tlmt  cannot  hope  or  fear. 
And  memory  gray  with  many  a  tlowerless  year. 


g4  TO  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Not  that  in  stranger's  wise 

I  lift  not  loving  eyes 
To  the  fair  foster-mother  France,  that  gave 

Beyond  the  pale  fleet  foam 

Help  to  my  sires  and  home  ; 
Whose  great  sweet  breast  could  shelter  those  and  save 

Whom  from  her  nursing  breasts  and  hands 
Their  land  cast  forth  of  old  on  gentler  lands. 

Not  without  thoughts  that  ache 

For  theirs  and  for  thy  sake, 
I,  born  of  exiles,  hail  thy  banished  head  ; 

I,  whose  young  song  took  flight 

Toward  the  great  heat  and  light 
On  me  a  child  from  thy  far  splendor  shed, 

From  thine  high  place  of  soul  and  song. 
Which,  fallen  on  eyes  yet  feeble,  made  them  strong. 

Ah  !  not  with  lessening  love 

For  memories  born  hereof, 
I  look  to  that  sweet  mother-land,  and  see 

The  old  fields  and  fair  full  streams. 

And  skies,  but  fled  like  dreams 
The  feet  of  freedom  and  the  thought  of  thee  ; 

And  all  between  the  skies  and  graves 
The  mirth  of  mockers  and  the  shame  of  slaves. 

She,  killed  with  noisome  air, 

Even  she  !  and  still  so  fair. 
Who  said,  ''  Let  there  be  freedom,"  and  there  was 

Freedom  ;  and  as  a  lance 

The  fiery  eyes  of  France 
Touched  the  world's  sleep,  and  as  a  sleep  made  pass 

Forth  of  men's  heavier  ears  and  eyes 
Smitten  with  fire  and  thunder  from  new  skies. 

Are  they  men's  friends  indeed 

Who  watch  them  weep  and  bleed  ? 
Because  thou  hast  loved  us,  shall  the  gods  love  thee  ? 

Thou,  first  of  men  and  friend, 

Seest  thou,  even  thou,  the  end  ? 
Thou  knowest  what  hath  been,  knowest  thou  what 
shall  be  ? 

Evils  may  pass  and  hopes  endure  ; 
But  fate  is  dim,  and  all  the  gods  obscure. 


TO  VICTOR  HUGO.  65 

O  nursed  in  airs  apart, 

0  poet  highest  of  heart. 
Hast  thou  seen  time,  who  hast  seen  so  many  things  ? 

Are  not  the  years  more  wise, 

More  sad  than  keenest  eyes, 
The  years  with  soundless  feet  and  sounding  wings  ? 

Passing  we  hear  them  not,  but  past 
The  clamor  of  them  thrills  us,  and  their  blast. 

Thou  art  chief  of  us,  and  lord  ; 

Thy  song  is  as  a  sword 
Keen-edged  and  scented  in  the  blade  from  flowers  ; 

Thou  art  lord  and  king  ;  but  we 

Lift  younger  eyes,  and  see 
Less  of  high  ho[)e,  less  light  on  wandering  hours  ; 

Hours  that  have  borne  men  down  so  long, 
Seen  the  right  fail,  and  watched  uplift  the  wrong. 

But  thine  imperial  soul. 

As  years  and  ruins  roll 
To  the  same  end,  and  all  things  and  all  dreams 

With  the  same  wreck  and  roar 

Drift  on  the  dim  same  sliore. 
Still  in  the  bitter  foam  and  brackish  streams 

Tracks  the  fresli  water-spring  to  be, 
And  sudden  sweeter  fountains  in  the  sea. 

As  once  the  high  god  bound 

With  many  a  rivet  round 
Man's  savior,  and  with  iron  nailed  him  through. 

At  the  wild  end  of  things, 

Where  even  his  own  bird's  wings 
Flagged,  whence  the  sea  shone  like  a  drop  of  dew. 

From  Caucasus  beheld  below 
Past  fathoms  of  unfathomable  snow  ; 

So  the  strong  God,  the  chance 

Central  of  circumstance. 
Still  shows  him  exile  who  will  not  be  slave  ; 

All  thy  great  fame  and  thee 

Girt  by  tlie  dim  strait  sea 
With  multitudinous  walls  of  wandering  wave  ; 

Sliows  US  our  greatest  fi-oin  his  throne 
FaLC-stricken,  and  rejected  of  his  own, 
5 


66  TO  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Yea,  he  is  strong,  thou  say'st, 

A  mystery  many-faced, 
The  wild  beasts  know  him,  and  the  wild  birds  flee  j 

The  blind  night  sees  him,  death 

Shrinks  beaten  at  his  breath, 
And  his  right  hand  is  heavy  on  the  sea  : 

We  know  he  hath  made  us,  and  is  king ; 
We  know  not  if  he  care  for  any  thing. 

Thus  much,  no  more,  we  know  : 

He  bade  what  is,  be  so. 
Bade  light  be,  and  bade  night  be,  one  by  one  ; 

Bade  hoi^e  and  fear,  bade  ill 

And  good  redeem  and  kill. 
Till  all  men  be  aweary  of  the  sun. 

And  this  world  burji  in  its  own  flame. 
And  bear  no  witness  longer  of  his  name. 

Yet  though  all  this  be  thus. 

Be  those  men  praised  of  us 
Who  have  loved  and  wrought  and  sorrowed,  and  not 
sinned 

For  fame  or  fear  or  gold, 

Nor  waxed  for  winter  cold. 
Nor  changed  for  changes  of  the  worldly  wind ; 

Praised  above  men  of  men  be  these. 
Till  this  one  world  and  work  we  know  shall  cease. 

Yea,  one  thing  more  than  this. 

We  know  that  one  thing  is. 
The  splendor  of  a  spirit  without  blame. 

That  not  the  laboring  years 

Blind-born,  nor  any  fears. 
Nor  men  nor  any  gods  can  tire  or  tame  ; 

But  purer  power  with  fiery  breath 
Fills  and  exalts  above  the  gulfs  of  death. 

Praised  above  men  be  thou. 

Whose  laurel-laden  brow. 
Made  for  the  morning,  droops  not  in  the  night ; 

Praised  and  beloved,  that  none 

Of  all  thy  great  things  done 
Flies  higher  than  thy  most  equal  spirit's  flight ; 

Praised,  that  nor  doubt  nor  hope  could  bend 
Earth's  loftiest  head,  found  upright  to  the  end. 


BEFORE  DAWN.  67 


BEFOEE  DAWN. 

Sweet  life,  if  life  were  stronger. 
Earth  clear  of  years  that  wrong  her, 
Then  two  things  might  live  longer. 

Two  sweeter  things  than  they, — 
Delight,  the  rootless  flower, 
And  love,  the  bloomless  bower  ; 
Delight  that  lives  an  hour. 

And  love  that  lives  a  day. 

From  evensong  to  daytime, 
When  A-pvil  melts  in  Maytime, 
Love  lengthens  out  his  playtime, 

Love  lessens  breath  by  breath. 
And  kiss  by  kiss  grows  older 
On  listless  throat  or  shoulder 
Turned  sideways  now,  turned  colder 

Than  life  that  dreams  of  death. 

This  one  thing  once  worth  giving 
Life  gave,  and  seemed  worth  living ; 
Sin  sweet  beyond  forgiving 

And  brief  beyond  regret  : 
To  laugh  and  love  together. 
And  weave  with  foam  and  feather 
And  wind  and  words  the  tether 

Our  memories  play  with  yet. 

Ah  !  one  thing  worth  beginning. 
One  thread  in  life  worth  spinning. 
Ah,  sweet,  one  sin  worth  sinning 

With  all  the  whole  soul's  will  ; 
To  lull  you  till  one  stilled  you. 
To  kiss  you  till  one  killed  yon. 
To  feed  you  till  one  filled  you, 

Sweet  lips,  if  love  could  fill ; 

To  hunt  sweet  Love,  and  lose  him 
Between  white  arms  and  bosom. 
Between  tlie  bud  and  blossom, 
Between  your  throat  and  chin  ; 


68  BEFORE  DAWN. 

To  say  of  shame — what  is  it  ? 
Of  virtue — we  cau  miss  it ; 
Of  sin — we  can  but  kiss  it. 
And  it's  no  longer  sin  ; 

To  feel  the  strong  soul,  stricken 
Through  fleshly  pulses,  quicken 
Beneath  swift  sighs  that  thicken, 

Soft  hands  and  lips  that  smite  ; 
Lips  that  no  love  can  tire. 
With  hands  that  sting  like  fire. 
Weaving  the  web  Desire 

To  snare  the  bird  Delight. 

But  love  so  lightly  plighted. 
Our  love  with  torch  unlighted. 
Paused  near  us  unaffrighted. 

Who  found  and  left  him  free  : 
None,  seeing  us  cloven  in  sunder. 
Will  weep  or  laugh  or  wonder  ; 
Light  love  stands  clear  of  thunder, 

And  safe  from  winds  at  sea. 


As,  when  late  larks  give  warning 
Of  dying  lights  and  dawning, 
Night  murmurs  to  the  morning, 

"  Lie  still,  0  love,  lie  still ;  " 
And  half  her  dark  limbs  cover 
The  white  limbs  of  her  lover, 
With  amorous  plumes  that  hover 

And  fervent  lips  that  chill ; 


As  scornful  day  represses 
Night's  void  and  vain  caresses. 
And  from  her  cloudier  tresses 

Unwinds  tlie  gold  of  his, 
With  limbs  froui  limbs  dividing, 
And  breatli  by  breath  subsiding  ; 
For  love  has  no  abiding, 

But  dies  before  the  kiss  : 


THE  GARDEN  OF  PROSERPINE.  69 

So  hath  it  been,  so  be  it ; 
For  who  shall  live  and  flee  it  ? 
But  look  that  no  man  see  it 

Or  hear  it  unaware  ; 
Lest  all  who  love  and  choose  him 
See  Love,  and  so  refuse  him  ; 
For  all  who  find  him  lose  him, 

But  all  have  found  him  fair. 


THE  GARDEN  OF  PROSERPINE. 

Here,  where  the  world  is  quiet. 
Here,  where  all  trouble  seems 
Dead  winds'  and  spent  waves'  riot 
In  doubtful  dreams  of  dreams  ; 
I  watch  the  green  field  growing 
For  reaping  folk  and  sowing. 
For  harvest  time  and  mowing, 
A  sleepy  world  of  streams. 

I  am  tired  of  tears  and  laughter. 
And  men  that  laugh  and  weep, 
Of  what  may  come  hereafter 
For  men  that  sow  to  reap  : 
I  am  weary  of  days  and  hours. 
Blown  buds  of  barren  flowers, 
Desires  and  dreams  and  powers. 
And  every  thing  but  sleej). 

Here  life  has  death  for  neighbor. 

And  far  from  eye  or  ear 
Wan  waves  and  wet  winds  labor. 

Weak  ships  and  spirits  steer  ; 
They  drive  adrift,  and  whither 
They  wot  not  who  make  thither ; 
But  no  such  winds  blow  hither. 

And  no  such  things  grow  here. 

No  growth  of  moor  or  coppice. 
No  heather-flower  or  vine, 

But  bloomless  buds  of  poppies, 
Green  grapes  of  Proserpine, 


70  THE  GARDEN  OF  PROSERPINE. 

Pale  beds  of  blowing  rushes 
Where  no  leaf  blooms  or  blushes 
Save  this  whereout  she  crushes 
For  dead  men  deadly  wine. 

Pale,  without  name  or  number, 

In  fruitless  fields  of  corn, 
They  bow  themselves  and  slumber 

All  night  till  light  is  born  ; 
And  like  a  soul  belated. 
In  hell  and  heaven  nnmated, 
By  cloud  and  mist  abated 

Comes  out  of  darkness  morn. 

Though  one  were  strong  as  seven, 
He  too  with  death  shall  dwell. 

Nor  wake  with  wings  in  heaven, 
Nor  weep  for  pains  in  hell  ; 

Though  one  were  fair  as  roses. 

His  beauty  clouds  and  closes  ; 

And  w^ell  though  love  reposes. 
In  the  end  it  is  not  well. 

Pale,  beyond  porch  and  portal 

Crowned  with  calm  leaves,  she  stands 
Who  gathers  all  things  mortal 
AVith  cold  immortal  hands  ; 
Her  languid  lips  are  sweeter 
Than  love's  who  fears  to  greet  her 
To  men  that  mix  and  meet  her 
For  many  times  and  lands. 

She  waits  for  each  and  other. 
She  waits  for  all  men  born  ; 
Forgets  the  earth  her  mother. 
The  life  of  fruits  and  corn  ; 
And  spring  and  seed  and  swallow 
Take  wing  for  her,  and  follow 
Where  summer  song  rings  hollow. 
And  flowers  are  put  to  scorn. 

There  go  the  loves  that  wither. 
The  old  loves  with  wearier  wings  ; 

And  all  dead  years  draw  thither, 
And  all  disastrous  things  ; 


LOVE  AT  SEA.  ^J 

Dead  dreams  of  days  forsaken, 
Blind  buds  that  snows  have  sliaken, 
Wild  leaves  that  winds  have  taken, 
Red  strays  of  ruined  springs. 

We  are  not  sure  of  sorrow, 

And  joy  was  never  sure  ; 
To-day  will  die  to-morrow  ; 

Time  stoops  to  no  man's  lure  ; 
AtkI  love,  grown  faint  and  fretful, 
AVith  lips  but  half  regretful 
Sighs,  and  with  eyes  fors^etful 

Weeps  that  no  loves  endure. 

From  too  much  love  of  living, 

From  hope  and  fear  set  free. 
We  thank  with  brief  tlianksgiving 

Whatever  gods  may  be 
That  no  life  lives  forever  ; 
That  dead  men  rise  up  never  ; 
That  even  the  weariest  river 

Winds  somewhere  safe  to  sea. 

Then  star  nor  sun  shall  waken, 

Nor  any  change  of  light ; 
Nor  sound  of  waters  shaken, 

Nor  any  sound  or  sight ; 
Nor  wintry  leaves  nor  vernal, 
Nor  days  nor  things  diurnal: 
Only  the  sleep  eternal 

In  an  eternal  niirht. 


LOVE  AT  SEA. 

We  are  in  love's  land  to-day  : 

Where  shall  we  go  ? 
Love,  shall  we  start  or  stay. 

Or  sail  or  row  ? 
There's  many  a  wind  and  way, 
And  never  a  May  but  May  : 
We  are  in  love's  hand  to-day  ; 

Where  shall  we  go  ? 


72  APRIL. 

Our  land-wiud  is  the  breath 
Of  sorrows  kissed  to  death, 

And  joys  that  were  ; 
Our  ballast  is  a  rose  ; 
Our  way  lies  where  God  knows, 

And  love  knows  where. 

We  are  in  love's  hand  to-day — 

Our  seamen  are  fledged  Loves, 
Our  masts  are  bills  of  doves. 

Our  decks  fine  gold  ; 
Our  ropes  are  dead  maids'  hair. 
Our  stores  are  love-shafts  fair 

And  manifold. 

We  are  in  love's  land  to-day — 

Where  shall  we  land  you,  sweet  ? 
On  fields  of  strange  men's  feet. 

Or  fields  near  home  ? 
Or  where  the  fire-flowers  blow. 
Or  where  the  flowers  of  snow, 

Or  flowers  of  foam  ? 

We  are  in  love's  hand  to-day — 

Land  me,  she  says,  where  love 
Shows  but  one  shaft,  one  dove. 

One  heart,  one  hand. 
— A  shore  like  that,  my  dear. 
Lies  where  no  man  will  steer, 

Xo  maiden  land. 

Imitated  from  Theophile  Gautier. 


APEIL. 

FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  THE  VIDAME  DE  CHARTRES.      12 — ? 

Whex  the  fields  catch  flower. 

And  the  underwood  is  green. 
And  from  bower  unto  bower 

The  songs  of  the  birds  begin, 

I  sins:  with  sighing  between. 


APRIL.  73 

When  I  laugh  and  sing, 

I  am  heavy  at  lieart  for  my  sin  ; 
I  am  sad  in  the  spring 

For  my  love  that  I  shall  not  win. 
For  a  foolish  thing. 

This  profit  I  have  of  my  woe, 

That  I  know,  as  I  sing, 
I  know  he  will  needs  have  it  so 

Who  is  master  and  king. 

Who  is  lord  of  the  spirit  of  spring. 
I  will  serve  her,  and  will  not  spare 

Till  her  pity  awake 
Who  is  good,  who  is  pure,  who  is  fair. 

Even  her  for  whose  sake 
Love  hath  ta'en  me  and  slain  unaware. 

0  my  lord,  0  Love, 

I  have  laid  my  life  at  thy  feet ; 
Have  thy  will  thereof, 

Do  as  it  please  tliee  with  it, 

For  what  shall  please  thee  is  sweet. 

1  am  come  unto  thee 

To  do  thee  service,  0  Love  ! 
Yet  cannot  I  see 

Thou  wilt  take  any  pity  thereof, 
Any  mercy  on  me. 

But  the  grace  I  have  long  time  sought 

Comes  never  in  sight. 
If  in  her  it  abideth  not. 

Through  thy  mercy  and  might. 

Whose  heart  is  the  world's  delight. 
Thou  hast  sworn  without  fail  I  shall  die. 

For  my  heart  is  set 
On  Avhat  hurts  me,  I  wot  not  whv. 

But  cannot  forget 
What  I  love,  what  I  sing  for  and  sigh. 

She  is  worthy  of  praise  ; 

For  this  grief  of  her  giving  is  worth 

All  the  joy  of  my  days 

That  lie  between  deatli's  diiy  and  birth. 
All  the  lor'lship  of  things  upon  earth. 


74  BEFORE  PARTING. 

Nay,  what  have  I  said  ? 

I  would  not  be  ghid  if  I  could  : 
My  dream  and  my  dread 

Are  of  her,  and  for  her  sake  I  would 
That  my  life    were  fled. 

Lo,  sweet;  if  I  durst  not  pray  to  you. 

Then  were  I  dead  ; 
If  I  sang  not  a  little  to  say  to  you, 

(Could  it  be  said) 

0  my  love,  liow  my  heart  would  be  fed  ; 
Ah,  sweet  who  hast  hold  of  my  heart. 

For  thy  love's  sake  I  live  ; 
Do  but  tell  me,  ere  either  depart, 

What  a  lover  may  give 
For  a  woman  so  fair  as  thou  art. 

The  lovers  that  disbelieve, 
False  rumors  shall  grieve 
And  evil-speaking  shall  part. 


BEFORE  PARTING. 

A  MONTH  or  twain  to  live  on  honeycomb 
Is  pleasant ;  but  one  tires  of  scented  time. 
Cold  sweet  recurrence  of  accepted  rhyme. 
And  that  strong  purple  under  juice  and  foam 
Where  the  wine's  heart  has  burst ; 
Nor  feel  the  latter  kisses  like  the  first. 

Once  yet,  this  poor  one  time  :  I  will  not  pray 

Even  to  change  the  bitterness  of  it, 

The  bitter  taste  ensuing  on  the  sweet, 

To  make  your  tears  fall  where  your  soft  hair  lay 

All  blurred  and  heavy  in  some  perfumed  wise 

Over  my  face  and  eyes. 

And  yet  who  knows  what  end  the  scythed  wheat 
Makes  of  its  foolish  poppies'  mouths  of  red  ? 
These  were  not  sown,  these  are  not  harvested. 
They  grow  a  month,  and  are  cast  UTider  feet, 
^nd  none  has  care  thereof, 
As  none  has  care  of  a  divided  love. 


THE  SUNDEW.  75 

I  know  each  shadow  of  j'our  lips  by  rote, 
Each  change  of  love  in  eyelids  and  eyebrows  ; 
The  fashion  of  fair  tem})les  tremulous 
With  tender  blood,  and  color  of  your  throat ; 
I  know  not  how  love  is  gone  out  of  this. 
Seeing  that  all  was  his. 

Love's  likeness  there  endures  tipon  all  these  ; 
But  out  of  these  one  shall  not  gather  love. 
Day    hath    not  strength    nor  the    night  shade 

enough 
To  make  love  whole,  and  fill  his  lips  with  ease, 
As  some  bee-builded  cell 
Feels  at  filled  lips  the  heavy  honey  swell. 

I  know  not  how  this  last  month  leaves  your  haii 

Less  full  of  purple  color  and  hid  spice. 

And  that  luxurious  trouble  of  closed  eyes 

Is  mixed  with  meaner  shadow  and  waste  care  ; 

And  love,  kissed  out  by  pleasure,  seems  not  yet 

Worth  patience  to  regret. 


THE  SUNDEW. 

A  LITTLE  marsh-plant,  yellow  green, 
And  pricked  at  lip  with  tender  red. 
Tread  close,  and  either  way  you  tread 
Some  faint  black  water  jets  between 
Lest  you  should  bruise  the  curious  head 

A  liv.e  thing  may  bo  ;  who  shall  know  ? 
The  summer  knows  and  suffers  it ; 
For  the  cool  moss  is  thick  and  sweet 
Each  side,  and  saves  the  blossom  so 
That  it  lives  out  the  long  June  heat. 

The  deep  scent  of  the  heather  burns 
About  it :  breathless  though  it  be, 
Bow  down  and  worsliip  ;  more  than  we 
Is  tlie  least  flower  wliose  life  returns, 
Least  weed  renascent  in  the  sea. 


76  AN  INTERLUDE. 

We  are  vexed  and  cumbered  in  earth's  sight 
With  wants,  with  many  memories  : 
These  see  their  mother  wliat  she  is. 
Glad-growing,  till  August  leave  more  bright 
The  apple-colored  cranberries. 

Wind  blows  and  bleaches  the  strong  grass. 
Blown  all  one  way  to  shelter  it 
From  trample  of  strayed  kine,  with  feet 
Felt  heavier  than  the  moorhen  was. 
Strayed  up  past  patches  of  wild  wheat. 

You  call  it  sundew  :  how  it  grows, 
If  with  its  color  it  have  breath. 
If  life  taste  sweet  to  it,  if  death 
Pain  its  soft  petal,  no  man  knows  : 
Man  has  no  sight  or  sense  that  saith. 

My  sundew,  grown  of  gentle  days. 
In  these  green  miles  the  spring  begun 
Thy  growth  ere  April  had  half  done 
With  the  soft  secret  of  her  ways, 
Or  June  made  ready  for  the  sun. 

0  red-lipped  mouth  of  marsh-flower  ! 

1  have  a  secret  halved  with  thee. 
The  name  that  is  love's  name  to  nie 
Thou  knowest,  and  the  face  of  her 
Who  is  my  festival  to  see. 

The  hard  sun,  as  thy  petals  knew, 

Colored  the  heavy  moss-water  : 

Thou  wert  not  worth  green  midsummer. 

Nor  fit  to  live  to  August  blue, 

0  sundew,  not  remembering  her. 


AN  INTERLUDE. 

In  the  greenest  growth  of  the  May  time, 
I  rode  where  the  woods  were  wet, 

Between  the  dawn  and  the  daytime  : 
The  spring  was  glad  that  we  met. 


AN  iNTERLtJDE.  77 

There  was  something  the  season  wanted. 

Though  the  ways  and  the  woods  smelt  sweet, — 

The  breath  at  your  lips  that  panted, 
The  pulse  of  the  grass  at  your  feet. 

You  came,  and  the  sun  came  after. 
And  the  green  grew  golden  above  ; 

And  the  flag-flowers  lighten  with  laughter. 
And  the  meadow-sweet  shook  with  love. 

Your  feet  in  the  full-grown  grasses 
Moved  soft  as  a  weak  wind  blows  : 

You  passed  me  as  April  passes. 
With  face  made  out  of  a  rose. 

By  the  stream  where  the  stems  were  slender, 
Your  bright  foot  paused  at  the  sedge  : 

It  might  be  to  watch  the  tender 

Light  leaves  in  the  springtime  hedge. 

On  boughs  that  the  sweet  month  blanches 

With  flowery  frost  of  May  ; 
It  might  be  a  bird  in  the  branches  ; 

It  might  be  a  thorn  in  the  way. 

I  waited  to  watch  yon  linger 

With  foot  drawn  back  from  the  dew. 

Till  a  sunbeam  straight  like  a  finger 
Struck  sharp  through  the  leaves  at  you. 

And  a  bird  overhead  sang  Follow, 
And  a  bird  to  the  right  sang  Here  ; 

And  the  arch  of  the  leaves  was  hollow. 
And  the  meaning  of  May  was  clear. 

I  saw  where  the  sun's  hand  jiointed, 
I  knew  what  the  bird's  note  said  : 
By  the  dawn  and  the  dewfall  anointed. 
You  were  queen  by  the  gold  on  your  head. 

As  the  glimpse  of  a  burnt-out  ember 

Recalls  a  regret  of  the  sun, 
I  remember,  forget,  and  remember 

What  Love  saAV  done  and  undone. 


78  HENDECASYLLABICS. 

I  remember  the  way  we  parted, 
The  day  and  the  way  we  met  : 

You  hoped  we  were  both  broken-heartedj 
And  knew  we  should  both  forget. 

And  May  with  her  world  in  flower 
Seemed  still  to  murmur  and  smile 

As  you  murmured  and  smiled  for  an  hour 
I  saw  you  turn  at  the  stile. 

A  hand  like  a  white  wood-blossom 
You  lifted,  and  waved,  and  passed, 

With  head  hung  down  to  the  bosom. 
And  pale,  as  it  seemed,  at  last. 

And  the  best  and  the  worst  of  this  is. 
That  neither  is  most  to  blame, 

If  you've  forgotten  my  kisses, 
And  I've  forgotten  your  name. 


HENDECASYLLABICS. 

lif  the  month  of  the  long  decline  of  roses, 

I,  beholding  the  summer  dead  before  me, 

Set  my  face  to  the  sea,  and  journeyed  silent, 

Gazing  eagerly  where  above  the  sea  mark 

Flame  as  fierce  as  the  fervid  eyes  of  lions 

Half  divided  the  eyelids  of  the  sunset  ; 

Till  I  heard  as  it  were  a  noise  of  waters 

Moving  tremulous  under  feet  of  angels 

Multitudinous,  out  of  all  the  heavens  ; 

Knew  the  fluttering  wind,  the  fluttered  foliage. 

Shaken  fitfully,  full  of  sound  and  shadow  ; 

And  saw,  trodden  upon  by  noiseless  angels. 

Long  mysterious  reaches  fed  with  moonlight. 

Sweet  sad  straits  in  a  soft  subsiding  channel. 

Blown  about  by  the  lips  of  winds  I  knew  not. 

Winds  not  born  in  the  north  nor  any  quarter, 

Winds,  not  warm  with  tlie  south  nor  any  sunshine ; 

Heard  between  them  a  voice  of  exultation. 


SAPPHICS.  Y9 

"  Lo,  the  summer  is  dead,  the  sun  is  faded, 

Even  like  as  a  leaf  the  year  is  withered, 

All  the  fruits  of  the  day  from  all  her  branches 

Gathered,  neither  is  any  left  to  gather. 

All  the  flowers  are  dead,  the  tender  blossoms, 

All  are  taken  away  ;  the  season  wasted, 

Like  an  ember  among  the  fallen  ashes. 

Now  with  light  of  the  winter  days,  with  moonlight. 

Light  of  snow,  and  the  bitter  light  of  hoar-frost. 

We  bring  flowers  that  fade  not  after  autumn. 

Pale  white  chaplets  and  crowns  of  latter  seasons, 

Fair  false  leaves  (but  the  summer  leaves  were  falser). 

Woven  under  the  eyes  of  stars  and  planets 

When  low  light  was  upon  the  windy  reaches 

Where  the  flower  of  foam  was  blown,  a  lily 

Dropt  among  the  sonorous  fruitless  furrows 

And  green  fields  of  the  sea  that  make  no  pasture  : 

Since  the  winter  begins,  the  weeping  winter, 

All  whose  flowers  are  tears,  and  round  his  temples 

Iron  blossom  of  frost  is  bound  forever." 


SAPPHICS. 

All  the  night  sleep  came  not  upon  my  eyelids. 
Shed  not  dew,  nor  shook  nor  unclosed  a  feather, 
Yet  with  lips  shut  close  and  with  eyes  of  iron 
Stood  and  beheld  me. 

Then  to  me  so  lying  awake  a  vision 
Came  without  sleep  over  the  seas  and  touched  me. 
Softly  touched  mine  eyelids  and  lips  ;  and  I  too. 
Full  of  the  vision. 

Saw  the  white  implacable  Aphrodite, 
Saw  the  hair  unbound  and  the  feet  unsandalled 
Shine  as  fire  of  sunset  on  western  v/aters  ; 
Saw  the  reluctant 

Feet,  the  straining  plumes  of  the  doves   that  drew 

her, 
Looking,  always,  looking  with  neck  reverted; 
Back  to  Lesbos,  back  to  the  hills  where  under 
Shone  JMitvlene  ; 


80  SAPPHICS. 

Heard  the  flying  feet  of  the  Loves  behind  her 
Make  a  sudden  thunder  upon  the  waters. 
As  the  thunder  flung  from  the  strong  unclosing 
Wings  of  a  great  wind. 

So  the  goddess  fled  from  her  place,  with  awful 
Sound  of  feet  and  thunder  of  wings  around  her  ; 
While  behind  a  clamor  of  singing  women 
Severed  the  twilight. 

Ah  the  singing,  ah  the  delight,  the  passion  ! 
All  the  Loves  wept,  listening  ;  sick  with  anguish. 
Stood  the  crowned  nine  Muses  about  Apollo  ; 
Fear  was  ujdou  them, 

"While  the  tenth  sang  wonderful  things  they  knew 

not. 
Ah  the  tenth,  the  Lesbian  !  the  nine  were  silent. 
None  endured  the  sound  of  her  song  for  weeping  ; 
Laurel  by  laurel. 

Faded  all  their  crowns  ;  but  about  her  forehead, 
Kound  her  woven  tresses  and  ashen  temples 
White  as  dead  snow,  paler  than  grass  in  summer. 
Ravaged  with  kisses. 

Shone  a  light  of  fire  as  a  crown  forever. 
Yea,  almost  the  implacable  Aphrodite 
Paused,  and  almost  wept ;  such  a  song  was  that  song. 
Yea,  by  her  name  too 

Called  her,  saying,  "Turn  to  me,  0  my  Sappho  !" 
Yet  she  turned  her  face  from  the  Love's,  she  saw 

not 
Tears  for  laughter  darken  immortal  eyelids. 
Heard  not  about  her 

Fearful  fitful  wings  of  the  doves  departing, 
SaAV  not  how  the  bosom  of  Aplirodite 
Shook  with  weeping,  saw  not  her  shaken  raiment, 
Saw  not  her  hands  wrung ; 


SAPPHICS.  81 

Saw  the  Lesbians  kissing  across  their  smitten 
Lutes  with  lips  more  sweet  than  the  sound  of  lute- 
strings. 
Mouth  to  mouth  and  hand  upon  hand  her  chosen. 
Fairer  than  all  men  ; 

Only  saw  the  beautiful  lips  and  fingers. 
Full  of  songs  and  kisses  and  little  whisjDcrs, 
Full  of  music  ;  only  beheld  among  them 
Soar,  as  a  bird  soars 

Newly  fledged,  her  visible  song,  a  marvel. 
Made  of  perfect  sound  and  exceeding  passion. 
Sweetly  shapen,  terrible,  full  of  thunders. 
Clothed  with  the  wind's  wings. 

Then  rejoiced  she,  laughing  with  love,  and  scattered 
Roses,  awful  roses  of  holy  blossom  ; 
Then  the  Loves  thronged  sadly  with  hidden  faces 
Round  Aphrodite, 

Then  the  Muses,  stricken  at  heart,  were  silent  ; 
Yea,  the  gods  waxed  pale  ;  such   a   song  was  that 

song. 
All  reluctant,  all  witli  a  fresh  repulsion. 
Fled  from  before  her. 

All  withdrew  long  since,  and  the  land  was  barren, 
Full  of  fruitless  women  and  music  only. 
Now  percliance,  when  winds  are  assuaged  at  sunset. 
Lulled  at  the  dewfall. 

By  the  gray  sea-side,  unassuagod,  unheard  of, 
Unbeloved,  unseen  in  the  ebb  of  twilight. 
Ghosts  of  outcast  women  return  lamenting. 
Purged  not  in  Lethe, 

Clothed  about  with  flame  and  with  tears,  and  sing- 
ing 
Songs  that  move  the  heart  of  the  shaken  heaven, 
Sougs  tliat  break  the  heart  of  the  earth  with  pity, 
Hearing,  to  hear  them, 
0 


y2  AT  ELEUSIS. 


AT  ELEUSIS. 

Mex  of  Eleusis,  ye  that  witli  long  staves 
Sit  in  the  market-houses,  and  speak  words 
Made  sweet  witli  wisdom  as  tlie  rare  wine  is 
Thickened  with  honey  ;  and  ye  sons  of  tliese 
AYho  in  the  glad  thick  streets  go  up  and  down 
For  pastime  or  grave  traffic  or  mere  chance ; 
And  all  fair  women  having  rings  of  gold 
On  hands  or  hair  ;  and  chief  est  over  these 
I  name  you,  daughters  of  this  man  the  king. 
Who  dipping  deep  smooth  pitchers  of  pure  brass 
Under  the  bubbled  wells,  till  each  round  lip 
Stooped  with  loose  gurgle  of  waters  incoming, 
Found  me  an  old  sick  woman,  lamed  and  lean. 
Beside  a  growth  of  builded  olive-bouglis 
Whence    multiplied    thick    song    of    thick-plnmed 

throats — 
Also  wet  tears  filled  up  my  hollow  hands 
By  reason  of  my  crying  into  them — 
And  pitied  me  ;  for  as  cold  water  ran 
And  washed  the  pitchers  full  from  lip  to  lip, 
So  washed  both  eyes  full  the  strong  salt  of  tears. 
And  ye  put  water  to  my  mouth,  made  sweet 
With  brown  hill-berries  :  so  in  time  I  spoke, 
And  gathered  my  loose  knees  from  under  me. 
Moreover,  in  the  broad,  fair  halls  this  month 
Have  I  found  space  and  bountiful  abode 
To  please  me.     I  Demeter  speak  of  this, 
AVho  am  the  mother  and  the  mate  of  things  : 
For  as  ill  men  by  drugs  or  singing  words 
Shut  the  doors  inward  of  the  narrow  womb 
Like  a  lock  bolted  with  round  iron  through. 
Thus  I  shut  up  the  body  and  sweet  mouth 
Of  all  soft  pasture  and  the  tender  land, 
So  that  no  seed  can  enter  in  by  it. 
Though  one  sow  thickly,  nor  some  grain  get  out 
Past  the  hard  clods  men  cleave  and  bite  with  steel 
To  widen  the  sealed  lij)s  of  them  for  use. 
]S[one  of  you  is  there  in  the  peopled  street 


AT  ELEUSIS.  83 

But  knows  how  all  the  dry-drawn  furrows  ache 

With  no  green  spot  made  count  of  in  the  black  ; 

How  the  wind  finds  no  comfortable  grass, 

Nor  is  assuaged  with  bud  nor  breath  of  herbs  ; 

And  in  hot  autumn,  when  ye  house  the  stacks, 

All  fields  are  helpless  in  the  sun,  all  trees 

Stand  as  a  man  stripped  out  of  all  but  skin. 

Nevertheless,  ye  sick  have  help  to  get 

By  means  and  stablished  ordinance  of  God  ; 

For  God  is  wiser  than  a  good  man  is. 

But  never  shall  new  grass  be  sweet  in  earth 

Till  1  get  righted  of  my  wound  and  wrong 

By  changing  counsel  of  ill-minded  Zeus. 

For  of  all  other  gods  is  none  save  me 

Clothed  witli  like  power  to  build  and  break  the  year. 

I  make  the  lesser  green  begin,  when  spring 

Touches  not  earth  but  with  one  fearful  foot ; 

And  as  a  careful  gilder  with  grave  art 

Soberly  colors  and  completes  the  face. 

Mouth,  chin,  and  all,  of  some  sweet  work  in  stone, 

I  carve  the  shapes  of  grass  and  tender  corn. 

And  color  the  ripe  edges  and  long  spikes 

With  the  red  increase  and  the  grace  of  gold. 

No  tradesman  in  soft  wools  is  cunninger 

To  kill  the  secret  of  the  fat  white  fleece 

With  stains  of  blue  and  purple  Avrought  in  it. 

Three   moons   were  made,  and   three   moons  burnt 

away, 
While  I  held  journey  hither  out  of  Crete, 
Comfortless,  tended  by  grave  Hecate, 
Whom  my  wound  stung  with  double  iron  point  ; 
For  all  my  face  Avas  like  a  cloth  wrung  out 
With  close  and  weeping  wrinkles,  and  both  lids 
Sodden  with  salt  continuance  of  tears. 
For  Hades  and  the  sidelong  will  of  Zeus, 
And  that  lame  wisdom  that  has  writhen  feet. 
Cunning,  begotten  in  the  bed  of  Shame, 
These  three  took  evil  will  at  me,  and  made 
Such  counsel,  tliat  when  time  got  wing  to  fly 
'^rhis  Hades  out  of  summer  and  low  fields 
Forced  the  bright  body  of  Persephone  : 
Out   of  pure  grass,    where     she   lying    down,    red 

flowerg 


84  AT  ELEUSIS. 

Made  their  sharp  little  shadows  on  her  sides, 
Pale  heat,  pale  color  on  pale  maiden  flesh, — 
And  chill  water  slid  over  her  reddening  feet. 
Killing  the  throbs  in  their  soft  blood  ;  and  birds. 
Perched  next  her  elbows,  and  pecking  at  her  hair. 
Stretched  their  necks  more  to  see  her  than    even  to 

sing. 
A  sharp  thing  is  it  I  have  need  to  say  ; 
For  Hades  holding  both  white  wrists  of  hers 
Unloosed  the  girdle,  and  with  knot  by  knot 
Bound  her  between  his  wheels  upon  the  seat. 
Bound  her  pure  body,  holiest  yet  and  dear 
To  me  and  God  as  always,  clothed  about 
With  blossoms  loosened,  as  her  knees  went  down, 
Let  fall  as  she  let  go  of  this  and  this 
By  tens  and  twenties  tumbled  to  her  feet. 
White  waifs  or  purple  of  the  pasturage. 
Therefore  with  only  going  up  and  down 
My  feet  were  wasted,  and  the  gracious  air, 
To  me  discomfortable  and  dun,  became 
As  weak  smoke  blowing  in  the  underworld. 
And  finding  in  the  process  of  ill  days 
What  part  had  Zeus  herein,  and  how  as  mate 
He  coped  with  Hades,  yokefellow  in  sin, 
I  set  my  lips  against  the  meat  of  gods. 
And  drank  not,  neither  ate  or  slept,  in  heaven. 
Nor  in  tlie  golden  greeting  of  their  mouths 
Did  ear  take  note  of  me,  nor  eye  at  all 
Track  my  feet  going  in  the  ways  of  them. 
Like  a  great  fire  on  some  strait  slip  of  land 
Between  two  washing  inlets  of  wet  sea 
That  burns  the  grass  up  to  each  lip  of  beach, 
And  strengthens,  waxing  in  the  growth  of  wind. 
So  burnt  my  soul  in  me  at  heaven  and  earth. 
Each  way  a  ruin  and  a  hungry  plague. 
Visible  evil  ;  nor  could  any  night 
Put  cool  between  mine  eyelids,  nor  the  sun 
With  competence  of  gold  fill  out  my  want. 
Yea,  so  my  flame  burnt  up  the  grass  and  stones, 
Shone  to  the  salt-white  edges  of  thin  sea. 
Distempered  all  tlie  gracious  work,  and  made 
Sick  change,  unseasonable  increase  of  days 
And  scant  avail  of  seasons  ;  for  by  this 


AT  ELEUSIS.  85 

The  fair  gods  faint  in  hollow  heaven  :  there  comes 

No  taste  of  burnings  of  the  twofold  fat 

To  leave  their  palates  smooth,  nor  in  tlieir  lips 

Soft  rings  of  smoke,  and  weak  scent  wandering  ; 

All  cattle  waste  and  rot,  and  their  ill  smell 

Grows  alway  from  the  lank,  unsavory  flesh 

That  no  man  slays  for  offering  ;  the  sea 

And  waters  moved  beneath  the  heath  and  corn 

Preserve  the  people  of  fin-twinkling  fish, 

And  river-flies  feed  thick  upon  the  smooth  ; 

But  all  earth  over  is  no  man  or  bird 

(Except  the  sweet  race  of  the  kingfisher) 

That  lacks  not,  and  is  wearied  with  much  loss. 

Meantime,  the  purple  inward  of  the  house 

Was  softened  with  all  grace  of  scent  and  sound 

In  ear  and  nostril  perfecting  my  praise  ; 

Faint  grape-flowers  and  cloven  honey-cake 

And  the  just  grain  with  dues  of  the  shed  salt 

Made  me  content  :  yet  my  hand  loosened  not 

Its  gripe  upon  your  harvest  all  year  long. 

While  I,  thus  woman-muffled  in  wan  flesh 

And  waste  externals  of  a  pei'ished  face, 

Preserved  the  levels  of  my  wrath  and  love 

Patiently  ruled  j  and  with  soft  offices 

Cooled    the    sharp    noons,  and    busied    the  warm 

nights 
In  care  of  this  my  choice,  this  child  my  choice, 
Triptolemus,  the  king's  selected  son  : 
That  this  fair  yearlong  body,  which  hath  grown 
Strong  with  strange  milk  upon  the  mortal  lip 
And  nerved  with  half  a  god,  might  so  increase 
Outside  the  bulk  aiul  the  bare  scope  of  man  ; 
And  waxen  over  large  to  hold  within 
Base  breath  of  yours,  and  this  impoverished  air, 
I  might  exalt  him  past  the  flame  of  stars. 
The  limit  and  walled  reach  of  the  great  world. 
Therefore  my  breast  made  common  to  his  mouth 
Immortal  savors,  and  the  taste  whereat 
Twice  their  hard  life  strains  out  the  colored  veins, 
And  twice  its  brain  confirms  the  narrow  shell. 
Also  at  night,  unwinding  cloth  from  cloth 
As  who  unhusks  an  ahnoiul  to  the  white. 
And  pastures  curiously  the  purer  taste, 


86  AT  ELEUSIS. 

1  bared  the  gracious  limbs  and  the  soft  feet, 

Unswaddled  the  weak  liaiids,  and  in  mid-ash 

Laid  the  sweet  flesh  of  either  feeble  side, 

More  tender  for  impressure  of  some  touch 

Than  wax  to  any  pen  ;  and  lit  around 

Fire,  and  niade  crawl  the  white,  worm-shapen  flame. 

And  leap  in  little  angers  spark  by  s})ark 

At  head  at  once,  and  feet ;  and  the  faint  hair 

Hissed  with  rare  sprinkles  in  the  closer  curl. 

And  like  scaled  oarage  of  a  keen  thin  fish 

In  sea- water,  so  in  pure  fire  his  feet 

Struck  out,  and  the  flame  bit  not  in  his  flesh, 

But  like  a  kiss  it  curled  his  lip,  and  heat 

Fluttered  his  eyelids  ;  so  each  night  I  blew 

The  hot  ash  red  to  purge  him  to  full  god. 

Ill  is  it  when  fear  hungers  in  the  soul 

For  painful  food,  and  chokes  thereon,  being  fed  ; 

And  ill  slant  eyes  interpret  the  straight  sun. 

But  in  their  scope  its  white  is  wried  to  black  : 

By  the  queen  Metaneira  mean  1  this  ; 

For  with  sick  wrath  upon  her  lips  and  heart, 

Narrowing  witli  fear  the  spleenful  passages, 

She  thought  to  thread  this  web's  fine  ravel  out, 

Nor  leave  her  shuttle  split  in  combing  it  ; 

Therefore  she  stole  on  us,  and  with  hard  sight 

Peered,  and   stooped  close  ;  then   with   pale,    open 

mouth 
As  the  fire  smote  her  in  the  eyes  between 
Cried,  and  the  child's  laugh  sharply  shortening 
As  fire  doth  under  rain,  fell  off  ;  the  flame 
Writhed  once  all  tlirough  and  died,  and  in  thick  dark 
"^rears  fell  from  mine  on  the  child's  weeping  eyes. 
Eyes  dispossessed  of  strong  ijiheritance 
And  mortal  fallen  anew.     Who  not  the  less 
From  bud  of  beard  to  pale-gray  flower  of  hair 
Shall  wax  vine-wise  to  a  lordly  vine,  whose  grapes 
Bleed  the  red,  heavy  blood  of  swoln  soft  wine, 
Subtle  with  sharp  leaves'  intricacy,  until 
Full  of  white  years  and  blossom  of  hoary  days 
I  take  him  perfected  ;  for  whose  one  sake 
I  am  thus  gracious  to  the  least  who  stands 
Filleted  with  white  wool  and  girt  upon 
As  he  whose  prayer  endures  upon  the  lip 


AUGUST.  e^Y 

And  falls  not  waste  :  wherefore  let  sacrifice 

Burn  and  run  red  in  all  the  wider  ways 

Seeing  I  have  sworn  by  the  pale  temples'  band 

And  poppied  hair  of  gold  Persephone 

Sad-tressed  and  pleached  low  down  about  her  brows, 

And  by  the  sorrow  in  her  lips,  and  death 

Her  dumb  and  mournful-mouthed  minister, 

My  word  for  you  is  eased  of  its  harsh  weight 

And  doubled  with  soft  promise  ;  and  your  king 

Triptolenius,  this  Celeus  dead  and  swathed 

Purple  and  \yd\o  for  golden  burial, 

Shall  be  your  helper  in  my  services, 

Dividing  earth  and  reaping  fruits  thereof 

In  fields  where  wait,  well-girt,  well-wreathen,  all 

The  heavy-handed  seasons  all  year  through  ; 

Saving  the  choice  of  warm  spear-headed  grain. 

And  stooping  sharp  to  the  slant-sided  share 

All  beasts  that  furrow  the  remeasured  land 

With  their  bowed  necks  of  burden  equable. 


AUGUST. 

There  were  four  apples  on  the  bough. 
Half  gold,  half  rod,  tliat  one  might  know 
The  blood  was  ripe  inside  the  core  ; 
The  color  of  the  leaves  was  more 
Like  stems  of  yellow  corn  that  grow 
Through  all  the  gold  June  meadow's  floor. 

The  warm  smell  of  the  fruit  was  good 

To  feed  on,  and  the  split  green  wood, 

With  all  its  bearded  li))s  and  stains 

Of  mosses  in  the  cloven  veins, 

Most  pleasant,  if  one  lay  or  stood 

In  sunshine  or  in  happy  rains. 

There  were  four  apples  on  the  tree, 

Red  stained  through  gold,  that  all  might  see 

Tlie  sun  went  warm  from  core  to  rind  ; 

The  green  leaves  made  tlie  summer  blind 

In  that  soft  phice  they  kept  for  me 

With  golden  apples  shut  behind. 


AUGUST. 

The  leaves  caught  gold  across  the  sun. 
And  where  the  bluest  air  begun, 
Thirsted  for  song  to  help  the  heat  ; 
As  I  to  feel  my  lady's  feet 
Draw  close  before  the  day  were  done  : 
Both  lips  grew  dry  with  dreams  of  it. 

In  the  mute  August  afternoon 

They  trembled  to  some  undertune 

Of  music  in  the  silver  air  : 

Great  pleasure  was  it  to  be  there 

Till  green  turned  duskier,  and  the  moon 

Colored  the  corn-sheaves  like  gold  hair. 

That  August  time  it  was  delight 

To  watch  the  red  moons  wane  to  white 

'Twixt  gray  seamed  stems  of  apple-trees  : 

A  sense  of  heavy  harmonies 

Grew  on  the  growth  of  patient  night. 

More  sweet  than  shapen  music  is. 

But  some  three  hours  before  the  moon 
The  air,  still  eager  from  the  noon. 
Flagged  after  heat,  not  wholly  dead  ; 
Against  the  stem  I  leant  my  head  ; 
The  color  soothed  me  like  a  tune. 
Green  leaves  all  round  the  gold  and  red. 

I  lay  there  till  the  warm  smell  grew 
More  sharp,  when  flecks  of  yellow  dew 
Between  the  round  ripe  leaves  had  blurred 
The  rind  with  stain  and  wet  :  I  heard 
A  wind  that  blew  and  breathed  and  blew. 
Too  weak  to  alter  its  one  word. 

The  wet  leaves  next  the  gentle  fruit 
Felt  smoother,  and  the  brown  tree-root 
Felt  the  mould  warmer  :  I.  too,  felt 
(As  water  f  3els  the  slow  gold  melt 
Kigiit  through  it  when  the  day  burns  mute) 
The  peace  of  time  wherein  love  dwelt. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  89 

There  were  four  apples  on  the  tree, 
Gold  stained  on  red,  that  all  might  see 
The  sweet  blood  filled  them  to  the  core  : 
The  color  of  her  hair  is  more 
Like  stems  of  fair  faint  gold,  that  be 
Mown  from  the  harvest's  middle-floor. 


A  CHEISTMAS  CAROL.' 

Three  damsels  in  the  queen's  chamber. 

The  queen's  moutii  was  most  fair  : 
She  spake  a  word  of  God's  mother 
As  the  combs  went  in  her  hair. 
Mary  that  is  of  might. 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  sight. 

They  held  the  gold  combs  out  from  her, 

A  span's  length  off  her  liead  : 
She  sang  this  song  of  God's  mother 
And  of  her  bearing-bed. 
Mary  most  full  of  grace, 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  face. 

When  she  sat  at  Joseph's  hand, 
She  looked  against  her  side  ; 
And  either  way  from  the  short  silk  band 
Her  girdle  was  all  wried. 
Mary  that  all  good  may. 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  way. 

Mary  had  three  women  for  her  bed  :  v 
The  twain  were  maidens  clean  ; 

The  first  of  them  had  white  and  red. 

The  third  had  riven  green, 
^[ary  that  is  so  sweet, 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  feet. 

She  had  three  women  for  her  hair  : 
Two  were  gloved  soft  and  shod  ; 

1  Suggested  by  a  drawing  of  Mr.  D.  (i  Rossetti's. 


90  A  CHRISTMAS  CAliOL. 

The  third  had  feet  and  fingers  bare, 
She  was  the  likest  God. 
Mary  that  wieldeth  land, 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  hand. 

She  had  three  women  for  lier  ease  : 

The  twain  were  good  women  ; 
The  first  two  were  the  two  Maries, 
The  third  was  Magdalen. 
Mary  that  perfect  is, 
Bring  iis  to  tiiy  Son's  kiss. 

Joseph  had  three  workmen  in  his  stall. 

To  serve  him  well  upon  : 
The  first  of  them  were  Peter  and  Paul, 
The  third  of  them  was  John. 
Mary,  God's  handmaiden. 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  ken. 

"  If  your  child  be  none  other  man's. 

But  if  it  be  very  mine, 
The  bedstead  shall  be  gold  two  spans. 
The  bedfoot  silver  fine." 
Mary  that  made  God  mirth, 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  birth. 

**^If  the  child  be  some  other  man's, 

And  if  it  be  none  of  mine. 
The  manger  shall  be  straw  two  spans, 
Betwixen  kine  and  kine."" 
Mary  that  made  sin  cease. 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  peace. 

Christ  was  born  upon  this  wise  : 

It  fell  on  such  a  night. 
Neither  with  sounds  of  psalteries. 
Nor  with  fire  for  light. 
Mary  that  is  God's  spouse, 
Bring  us  to  thy  Son's  house. 

The  star  came  out  upon  the  east 

Witli  a  great  sound  and  sweet  : 
Kings  gave  gold  to  make  him  feast. 
And  myrrh  for  him  to  eat. 
Mary,  of  thy  sweet  mood. 
Bring  us  tothy  Son's  good. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE.  91 

He  had  two  handmaids  at  his  head, 

One  iiaudmaid  at  his  feet  : 
The  twain  of  them  were  fair  and  red, 
The  third  one  was  right  sweet. 
Mary  that  is  most  wise. 
Bring  us  to  thy  Sou^s  eyes.     Amen. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BEESABE. 

A    MIRACLE-PLAY. 

King  David.     Knghts  mine,  all  that  be  in  hall, 
I  have  a  council  to  you  all, 
Because  of  this  thing  God  lets  fall 

Among  us  for  a  sign. 
For  some  days  hence  as  I  did  eat 
From  kingly  dishes  my  good  meat, 
There  flew  a  bird  between  my  feet 

As  red  as  any  wine. 
This  bird  had  a  long  bill  of  red, 
And  a  gold  ring  above  his  head  ; 
Long  time  he  sat  and  nothing  said. 
Put  softly  down  his  neck,  and  fed 

From  the  gilt  patens  fine  : 
And  as  I  marvelled  at  the  last. 
He  shut  his  two  keen  eyen  fast. 
And  suddenly  woxe  big  and  brast 

Ere  one  should  tell  to  mine. 

Primus  Miles:     Sir,  note  this  that  I  will  say  : 
That  Lord  who  maketh  coi-n  with  hay. 
And  morrows  each  of  yesterday. 

He  hath  you  in  his  hand. 

Secunchos  Miles  {Pagamis  quidam).     By  Satan  I 
hold  no  such  thing  ; 
For  if  wine  swell  within  a  king 
Whose  ears  for  drink  are  hot  and  ring, 
The  same  shall  dream  of  wine-bibbing 

Whilst  he  can  lie  or  stand. 

Queen  Bersahe.     Peace  now,  lords,  for  Oodis  head. 
Ye  chirk  as  starlings  that  be  fed, 


92  THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE. 

And  gape  as  fislies  newly  dead  : 
The  devil  put  your  bones  to  bed, 
Lo,  this  is  all  to  say. 

Secundns  Miles.     By  Mahound,  lords,  I  have  good 
will 
This  devil's  bird  to  wring  and  spill ; 
For  now  nieseems  our  game  goes  ill. 

Ye  have  scant  hearts  to  play. 

Tertius  Miles.     Lo,  sirs,  this  word  is  there  said, 
That  Urias  the  knight  is  dead 
Through  some  ill  craft :  by  Poulis  head, 
I  doubt  his  blood  hath  made  so  red 
This  bird  that  flew  from  the  queen's  bed 

Whereof  ye  have  such  fear. 

King  David.     Yea,  my  good  knave,  and  is  it  said 
That  I  can  raise  men  from  the  dead  ? 
By  God  I  think  to  have  his  head 
Who  saith  words  of  my  lady's  bed 

For  any  thief  to  hear. 
Et  percntiat  eum  in  capite. 

Queen  Bersahe.     I  wis  men  shall  sj^it  at  me, 
And  say  it  were  but  right  for  thee 
That  one  should  hang  thee  on  a  tree  : 
Ho  !  it  were  a  fair  thing  to  see 
The  big  stones  bruise  her  false  body  ; 

Fie  !  who  shall  see  her  dead  ? 

King  David.     I  rede  you  have  no  fear  of  this. 
For  as  ye  wot,  the  first  good  kiss 
I  had  must  be  the  last  of  his  ; 
Now  are  ye  queen  of  mine,  I  wis. 
And  lady  of  a  house  that  is 

Full  rich  of  meat  and  bread. 

Primns  Miles.     I  bid  you  make  good  cheer  to  be 
So  fair  a  queen  as  all  men  see. 
And  hold  us  for  your  lieges  free  : 
By  Peters  soul  that  hath  the  key 

Ye  have  good  hap  of  it. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE.     93 

Secundiis  Miles.     I  wovild  that  he  were  lumged 
and  dead 
Who  hath  no  Joy  to  see  your  head 
With  gold  about  it,  barred  on  red  : 
I  hold  liim  as  a  sow  of  lead 

That  is  so  scant  of  wit. 

Tunc  diced  Nathan  pi'opheta.     0  king  !   I  have  a 
Avord  to  thee  : 
The  child  that  is  in  Bersabe 
Shall  wither  without  light  to  see  ; 
This  word  is  come  of  God  by  me 

For  sin  that  ye  have  done. 
Because  herein  ye  did  not  right, 
To  take  the  fair  one  lamb  to  smite 
That  was  of  Urias  the  knight  : 

Ye  wist  he  had  but  one. 
Full  many  sheep  I  wot  ye  had, 
And  many  women,  when  ye  bade 
To  do  your  will  and  keep  you  glad ; 
And  a  good  crown  about  your  head 

With  gold  to  show  thereon. 
This  Urias  had  one  poor  house, 
With  low-barred  latoun  shot-windows. 
And  scant  of  corn  to  fill  a  mouse  ; 
And  rusty  basnets  for  his  brows, 

To  wear  them  to  the  bone. 
Yea,  the  roofs  also,  as  men  sain, 
Were  thin  to  hold  against  the  rain  : 
Therefore  what  rushes  were  there  lain 
Grew  wet  withouten  foot  of  men  ; 
The  stanclieons  were  all  gone  in  twain 

As  sick  man's  flesh  is  gone. 
Natliless  he  had  great  joy  to  see 
The  long  hair  of  this  Bersabe 
Fall  round  her  lap  and  round  her  knee 
Even  to  her  small  soft  feet,  that  be 
(Shod  now  with  crimson  royally. 

And  covered  with  clean  gold. 
Likewise  great  joy  he  had  to  kiss 
Her  throat,  where  now  the  scarlet  is 
Against  her  little  chin,  I  wis. 

That  then  was  but  cold. 


9i  THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE. 

No  scarlet  then  her  kirtle  had. 
And  little  gold  about  it  sprad  ; 
But  her  red  mouth  was  always  glad 
To  kiss,  albeit  the  eyes  were  sad 
With  love  they  had  to  hold. 

Secnndus  Miles.      How  !    old  thief,  thy  wits  are 
lame  ; 
To  clip  such  it  is  no  shame  ; 
I  rede  you  in  the  devil's  name, 
Ye  come  not  here  to  make  men  game, 
By  Termagaunt  that  maketli  grame, 

I  shall  to-be te  thine  head. 

Hie  Diaholus  capiat  eum. 
This  knave  hath  sharp  fingers,  perfay  ; 
Mahound  you  thank  and  keep  alway, 
And  give  you  good  knees  to  pray  ; 
What  man  hath  no  lust  to  play, 
The  devil  wring  his  ears,  I  say  : 
There  is  no  more  but  wellaway. 

For  now  am  I  dead. 

King  David.     Certes  his  mouth  is  wried  and  black. 
Full  little  pence  be  in  his  sack  : 
This  devil  hath  him  by  the  back. 

It  is  no  boot  to  lie. 

Nathan.     Sitteth  now  still,  and  learn  of  me 
A  little  while,  and  ye  shall  see 
The  face  of  God's  strength  presently. 
All  queens  made  as  this  Bersabe, 
All  that  were  fair  and  foul  ye  be. 

Come  hither  ;  it  am  I. 

Ei  hie  omnes  cantabunt. 

Herodias.     I  am  the  queen  Herodias. 
Tills  headband  of  my  temples  was 
King  Herod's  gold  band  woven  me  ; 
This  broken  dry  staff  in  my  hand 
Was  the  queen's  staff  of  a  great  land 

Betwixen  Perse  and  Samarie. 
For  that  one  dancing  of  my  feet, 
The  fire  is  come  in  my  green  wheat. 

From  one  sea  to  the  other  sea. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE.  95 

Aholihah.     I  am  the  queen  Aholibah. 
My  lips  kissed  dumb  the  word  of  x-ilt 

Siglied  on  strange  lips  grown  sick  thereby. 
God  wrought  to  me  my  royal  bed  : 
The  inner  work  thereof  was  red, 

The  outer  work  was  ivory. 
My  mouth's  heat  was  the  heat  of  flame 
For  lust  towards-the  kings  that  came 

With  horsemen  riding  royally. 

Cleopatra.     I  am  the  queen  of  Ethiope. 
Love  bade  my  kissing  eyelids  ope, 

That  men  beholding  might  praise  love  ; 
My  hair  was  wonderful  and  curled  ; 
My  lips  held  fast  the  mouth  o'  the  world 

To  spoil  the  strength  and  speech  thereof. 
The  latter  triumph  in  my  breath 
Bowed  down  the  beaten  brows  of  death. 

Ashamed  they  had  not  wrath  enough. 

AbUiail.     I  am  the^ueen  of  Tyrians. 
My  liair  was  glorious  for  twelve  spans, 

That  dried  to  loose  dust  afterward. 
My  stature  was  a  strong  man's  length  : 
My  neck  was  like  a  place  of  strength 

Built  with  white  walls,  even  and  hard. 
Like  the  first  noise  of  rain  leaves  catch 
One  from  another,  snatch  by  snatch. 

Is  my  praise,  hissed  against  and  marred. 

Azuhah.     I  am  the  queen  of  Amorites. 
My  face  was  like  a  place  of  lights 

With  multitudes  at  festival. 
Tlie  glory  of  my  gracious  brows 
Was  like  God's  house  made  glorious 

With  colors  upon  either  wall. 
Between  my  brows  and  hair  there  was 
A  white  space  like  a  space  of  glass 

With  golden  candles  over  all. 

AJioIaJt.     I  am  the  queen  of  Amalek. 
There  was  no  tender  touch  or  fleck 
To  spoil  my  body  or  bared  feet. 


96  THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEX  BERSABE. 

My  words  were  soft  like  dulcimers. 
And  the  first  sweet  of  grape-flowers 

Made  each  side  of  my  bosom  sweet. 
My  raiment  was  as  tender  fruit 
Whose  rind  smells  sweet  of  spice-tree  root. 

Bruised  balm-blossom  and  budded  wheat. 

Aliinoam.     I  am  the  queen  Aliinoam. 
Like  the  tliroat  of  a  soft  slain  lamb 

Was  my  throat,  softer  veined  than  his  ; 
My  lips  were  as  two  grapes  the  sun 
Lavs  his  whole  weight  of  heat  upon 

Like  a  mouth  heavy  with  a  kiss  : 
My  hair's  pure  purple  a  wrought  fleece. 
My  temples  therein  as  a  piece 

Of  a  pomegranate's  cleaving  is. 

Ataralt.     I  am  the  queen  Sidonian. 
My  face  made  faint  the  face  of  man. 

And  strength  was  bound  between  my  brows. 
Spikenard  was  hidden  in  my  ships. 
Honey  and  wheat  and  myrrh  in  strips, 

"White  wools  that  shine  as  color  does. 
Soft  linen  dyed  upon  the  fold, 
Split  spice  and  cores  of  scented  gold. 

Cedar  and  broken  calamus. 

Semi  r  a  mis.     I  am  the  queen  Seniramis. 
The  whole  world,  and  the  sea  that  is 

In  fashion  like  a  chrysopras, 
The  noise  of  all  men  laboring, 
The  priest's  mouth  tired  through  thank  sgiving. 

The  sound  of  love  in  the  blood's  pause. 
The  strength  of  love  in  the  blood's  beat. 
All  these  were  cast  beneath  my  feet, 

And  all  found  lesser  than  I  was. 

Hesione.     I  am  tbe  queen  Hesione. 
The  seasons  that  increased  in  me 

Made  my  face  fairer  than  all  men's. 
I  had  the  summer  in  my  hair  ; 
And  all  the  pale  gold  autumn  air 

Was  as  the  habit  of  mv  sense. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE.     97 

My  body  was  as  fire  that  shoue  ; 
God's  beauty  that  makes  all  things  one 
Was  one  among  my  handmaidens. 

Clinjsotheniis.     I  am  the  queen  of  Samothrace. 
God,  making  roses,  made  my  face 

As  a  rose  filled  up  full  with  red. 
My  prows  made  sharp  the  straitened  seas 
From  Pontus  to  that  Chersonese 

Whereon  the  ebbed  Asian  stream  is  shed. 
My  hair  was  a  sweet  scent  that  drips  : 
Love's  breath  begun  about  my  lips 

Kindle  the  lips  of  people  dead. 

TJiomyris.     I  am  the  queen  of  Scythians. 
My  strength  was  like  no  strength  of  man's, 

My  face  like  day,  my  breast  like  spring. 
My  fame  was  felt  in  the  extreme  land 
That  hath  sunshine  on  the  one  hand. 

And  on  the  other  star-shining. 
Yea,  and  the  wind  there  fails  of  breath  ; 
Yea,  and  there  life  is  waste  like  death  ; 

Yea,  and  there  death  is  a  glad  thing. 

Harlias.     I  am  the  queen  of  Anakim. 
In  the  spent  years  whose  speech  is  dim. 

Whose  raiment  is  the  dust  and  death. 
My  stately  body  without  stain 
Shone  as  the  shining  race  of  rain 

AVhose  hair  a  great  wind  scattereth. 
Nov/  hath  God  turned  my  lips  to  sighs, 
Plucked  off  mine  eyelids  from  mine  eyes. 

And  sealed  with  seals  my  way  of  breath. 

Myrrha.     I  am  the  queen  Arabian. 
The  tears  wherewith  mine  eyelids  ran 

Smell  like  my  perfumed  eyelids'  smell. 
A  harsh  thirst  made  my  soft  mouth  hard. 
That  ached  witli  kisses  afterward  ; 

My  brain  rang  like  a  beaten  bell. 
As  tears  on  eyes,  as  fire  on  wood. 
Sin  fed  upon  my  breath  and  blood, 

Sin  made  my  breasts  subside  and  swell. 

7 


98  THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE. 

Pasijjhae.  .  I  am  the  queen  Pasiphae. 
Not  all  the  pure  cleau-colored  sea 

Could  cleanse  or  cool  my  yearning  veins  ; 
Nor  any  root  nor  herb  that  grew, 
Flag-leaves  that  let  green  water  through. 

Nor  washing  of  the  dews  and  rains. 
From  shame's  pressed  core  I  wrung  the  sweet 
Fruit's  savor  that  was  death  to  eat, 

Whereof  no  seed  but  death  remains. 

Sappho.     I  am  the  queen  of  Lesbians. 
My  love,  that  had  no  part  in  man's. 

Was  sweeter  than  all  shape  of  sweet. 
The  intolerable  infinite  desire 
Made  my  face  pale  like  faded  fire 

Wlien  the  ashen  pyre  falls  through  with  heat. 
My  blood  was  hot  wan  wine  of  love. 
And  my  song's  sound  the  sound  thereof, 

The  sound  of  the  delight  of  it. 

Messalina.     I  am  the  queen  of  Italy. 
These  were  the  signs  God  set  on  me  : 

A  barren  beauty  subtle  and  sleek, 
Curled  carven  hair,  and  clieoks  worn  wan 
With  fierce  false  lips  of  many  a  man, 

Large  temples  where  the  blood  ran  weak, 
A  mouth  athirst  and  amorous. 
And  hungering  as  the  grave's  mouth  does, 

That,  being  an  hungered,  cannot  speak. 

Amestris.     I  am  the  queen  of  Persians. 
My  breasts  were  lordlier  than  bright  swans, 

My  body  as  amber  fair  and  thin. 
Strange  flesh  was  given  my  lips  for  bread, 
With  poisonous  hours  my  days  were  fed. 

And  my  feet  sliod  with  adder-skin. 
In  Shush  an  toward  Ecbatane 
I  wrought  my  joys  with  tears  and  pain. 

My  loves  with  blood  and  bitter  sin. 

Ephratli.     I  am  the  queen  of  Rephaim. 
God,  that  some  while  refraineth  him. 
Made  in  the  end  a  spoil  of  me. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE.  99 

My  rumor  was  upon  the  world 

As  strong  sound  of  swoln  wntcr  hurled 

Through  porches  of  the  straining  sea. 
My  hair  was  like  the  flag-flower. 
And  my  breasts  carven  goodlier 

Than  beryl  with  chalcedony. 

Pasithea.   I  am  tlie  queen  of  Cypriotes. 
Mine  oarsmen,  laboring  with  brown  throats^ 

Sang  of  me  many  a  tender  thing. 
My  maidens,  girdled  loose,  and  braced 
With  gold   from  bosom  to  white  waist, 

Praised  me  between  their  wool-combing. 
All  that  praise  Venus  all  night  long 
With  lips  like  speech  and  lids  like  song 

Praised  me  till  song  lost  heart  to  sing. 

Alaciel.  I  am  the  queen  Alaciel. 
My  mouth  was  like  that  moist  gold  cell 

Whereout  the  thickest  honey  drips. 
Mine  eyes  were  as  a  gray-green  sea  : 
The  amorous  blood  that  smote  on  me 

Smote  to  my  feet  and  finger-tips. 
My  throat  was  whiter  than  the  dove, 
Mine  eyelids  as  the  seals  of  love. 

And  as  the  doors  of  love  my  lips. 

Erigone.  I  am  the  queen  Erigone. 
The  wild  wine  shed  as  blood  on  me 

Made  my  face  brighter  than  a  bride's. 
My  large  lips  had  the  old  thirst  of  earth, 
Mine  arms  the  might  of  the  old  sea's  girth 

Bound  round  the  whole  world's  iron  sides. 
Within  mine  eyes  and  in  mine  ears 
Were  music  and  the  wine  of  tears. 

And  light,  and  thunder  of  the   tides. 

Et  hie  excant,  et  (licut  Bersabe  regina. 
Alas  !  God,  for  thy  great  pity 

And  for  tlie  might  that  is  in  thee, 
Behold,  I  woful  Bersabe 


100         THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE. 

Cry  out  with  stoopings  of  my  kuee. 
And  thy  wrath  hiid  and  bound  on  me 

Till  1  nuiy  see  thy  love. 
Behold,  Lord,  this  child  is  grown 
Within  me  between  bone  and  bone 
To  make  me  mother  of  a  son, 
Made  of  my  body  with  strong  moan  : 
There  shall  not  be  another  one 

That  shall  be  made  hereof. 

King  David.   Lord  Grod,  alas  !  what  shall  I  sain  ? 
Lo,  thou  art  as  an  hundred  men 
Both  to  break  and  build  again  : 
The  wild  ways  thou  makest  plain. 
Thine  hands  hold  the  hail  and  rain, 
And  thy  fingers  both  grape  and  grain  ; 
Of  their  largess  we  be  all  well  fain, 

And  of  their  great  pity  : 
The  sun  thou  madest  of  good  gold, 
Of  clean  silver  the  moon  cold, 
All  the  great  stars  thou  hast  told 
As  thy  cattle  in  thy  fold 
Every  one  by  his  name  of  old  ; 
Wind  and  water  thou  hast  in  hold, 

Both  the  land  and  the  long  sea  ; 
Both  the  green  sea  and  the  land. 
Lord  God,  thou  hast  in  hand. 
Both  white  water  and  gray  sand  ; 
Upon  thy  right  or  thy  left  hand 
There  is  no  man  that  may  stand  : 

Lord,  thou  rue  on  me. 

0  wise  Lord,  if  thou  be  keen 
To  note  things  amiss  that  been, 

1  am  not  worth  a  shell  of  bean 

More  than  an  old  mare  meagre  and  lean. 
For  all  my  wrong-doing  with  my  queen, 
It  grew  not  out  of  heartes  clean. 

But  it  began  of  her  body. 
For  it  fell  in  the  hot  May, 
I  stood  within  a  paven  way 
Built  of  fair  bright  stone,  perfay. 
That  is  as  fire  of  night  and  day. 

And  lighteth  all  my  house. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  QUEEN  BERSABE.    IQl 

Therein  be  neitlier  stones  nor  sticks, 
Neither  red  nor  wliite  bricks, 
But  for  cubits  live  or  six 
There  is  most  goodl}'  sardonyx. 

And  amber  laid  in  rows. 
It  goes  round  about  my  roofs, 
(If  ye  list  ye  shall  have  proofs) 
There  is  good  space  for  horse  and  hoofs. 

Plain  and  nothing  perilous. 
For  the  fair  green  weather's  heat. 
And  for  the  smell  of  leaves  sweet. 
It  is  no  marvel,  well  ye  weet, 

A  man  to  waxen  amorous. 
This  I  say  now  by  my  case 
That  spied  forth  of  that  royal  place  : 
There  I  saw  in  no  great  space 
Mine  own  sweet,  both  body  and  face. 

Under  the  fresh  boughs. 
In  a  water  that  was  there 
She  wesshe  her  goodly  body  bare, 
And  dried  it  witli  her  owen  hair  : 
Both  lier  arms  and  her  knees  fair. 

Both  bosom  and  brows. 
Both  shoulders  and  eke  thighs, 
Tho  she  wesshe  upon  this  wise  ; 
Ever  she  sighed  with  little  sigljs. 

And  ever  she  gave  God  thank. 
Yea,  God  wot  I  can  well  see  yet 
Both  her  breast  and  her  sides  all  wet. 
And  her  long  hair  wi  thou  ten  let 
Spread  sideways  like  a  drawing  net  ; 
Full  dear  bought  and  full  far  let 
Was  that  sweet  thing  there  y-set  ; 
It  were  a  hard  thing  to  forget 
How  both  lips  and  cyen  met. 

Breast  and  breath  sank. 
So  goodly  a  sight  as  there  she  was, 
Lying  looking  on  her  glass 
By  wan  water  in  green  grass, 

Yet  saw  never  man. 
Sosoft  and  great  she  was  and  bright 
With  all  her  l)ody  Avaxen  white, 
1  woxe  uigh  blind  to  see  the  light 


102  ST.  DOROTHY. 

Shed  out  of  it  to  left  and  right  : 
This  bitter  sin  from  that  sweet  sight 

Between  ns  twain  began. 

Nathan.  Now,  sir,  be  meri'y  anon. 
For  ye  shall  have  a  full  wise  son. 
Goodly  and  great  of  flesh  and  bone  : 
There  shall  no  king  be  such  an  one, 

I  swear  by  Godis  rood. 
Therefore,  lord,  be  merry  here. 
And  go  to  meat  withouten  fear, 
And  hear  a  mass  witli  goodly  cheer  ; 
For  to  all  folk  ye  shall  be  dear. 

And  all  folk  of  your  blood. 

Et  tunc  dicant  Laudamus. 


ST.  DOEOTHY. 

It  hath  been  seen,  and  yet  it  shall  be  seen. 

That  out  of  tender  mouths    God's   praise    hath  been 

Made  perfect,  and  with  wood  and  simple  string 

He  hath  played  music  sweet  as  shawm-playing 

To  please  himself  with  softness  of  all  sound  ; 

And  no  small  thing  but  hath  been   sometime  found 

Full  sweet  of  use,  and  no  such  humbleness 

But  God  hath  bruised  withal  the  sentences 

And  evidence  of  wise  men  witnessing  ; 

No  leaf  that  is  so  soft  a  hidden  thing 

It  never  shall  get  sight  of  the  great  sun  ; 

The  strength  of  ten  has  been  the  strength  of  one. 

And  lowliness  has  waxed  imperious. 

There  was  in  Eome  a  man  Theophilus, 
Of  right  great  blood  and  gracious  ways,  that  had 
All  noble  fashions  to  make  people  glad 
And  a  soft  life  of  jileasurable  days. 
lie  was  a  goodly  man  for  one  to  praise. 
Flawless  and  whole  upward  from  foot  to  head  ; 
His  arms  were  a  red  hawk  that  alway  fed 
On  a  small  bird  with  feathers  gnawed  upon. 
Beaten  and  plucked  about  the  bosom-bone 
Whereby  a  small  round  fleck  like  fire  there  was  ; 


ST.  DOROTHY.  103 

Tliey  called  it  in  their  tongue  hunpadias  : 

This  was  the  banner  of  the  lordl}^  man. 

In  many  straits  of  sea  and  reaches  wan 

Full  of  quick  wind,  and  many  a  shaken  firth, 

It  had  seen  fighting  days  of  either  earth, 

Westward  or  east  of  waters  Gaditane 

(This  was  the  place  of  sea-rocks  under  Spain 

Called  after  the  great  praise  of   Hercules), 

And  north  beyond  the  wasliing  Pontic  seas. 

Tar  windy  Russian  places  fabulous, 

And  salt  fierce  tide    of  storm-swoln  Bosphoras. 

Now,  as  tliis  lord  came  straying  m  Rome  town. 
He  saw  little  lattice  open  down. 
And  after  it  a  press  of  maiden's  lieads 
That  sat  upon  their  cold  small  quiet  beds 
Talking,  and  played  upon  sliort-stringed  lutes; 
And  other  some  ground  perfume  out  of  roots 
Gathered  by  marvellous  moons  in  Asia, 
Saffron  and  aloes  and  wild  cassia, 
Colored  all  tlirough  and  smelling  of  the  sun  ; 
And  over  all  these  was  a  certain  one 
Clothed  softly,  witli  sweet  herbs  about  her  hair, 
And  bosom  flowerful  ;  her  face  more  fair 
Than  sudden-singing  April  in  soft  lands  ; 
Eyed  like  a  gracious  bird,  and  in  both  hands 
She  held  a  psalter  painted  green  and  red. 

This  Theophile  laughed  at  the  heart,  and  said, — • 
"Now  God  so  help  me  hither  and  St.  Paul, 
As  by  the  new  time  of  their  festival 
I  have  good  will  to  take  tliis  maid  to  wife." 
And  herewith  fell  to  fancies  of  her  life, 
And  soft  half-thougiits  that  ended  suddenly. 
This  is  man's  guise  to  please  himself,  when  he 
Shall  not  see  one  thing  of  his  pleasant  things, 
Nor  with  outwatch  of  many  travailings 
Come  to  be  eased  of  the  least  pain  he  hath 
For  all  his  love  and  all  his  foolish  wrath, 
And  all  the  heavy  manner  of  his  mind. 
Thus  is  he  like  a  fisher  fallen  blind, 
That  casts  his  nets  across  the  boat  awry 
To  strike  the  sea,  but  lo  !  he  striketh  dry. 
And  plucks  them  back  all  broken  for  his  pain, 
And  bites  his  beard,  and  casts  across  again, 


104:  ST.  DOROTHY. 

And  reaching  wrong  slips  over  in  the  sea. 

So  hath  this  man  a  strangled  neck  for  fee. 

For  all  his  cost  he  chnckles  in  his  throat. 

This  Theophile  that  little  hereof  wote 

Laid  wait  to  hear  of  her  what  she  might  bo  : 

Men  told  him  she  had  name  of  Dorothy, 

And  was  a  lady  of  a  worthy  house. 

Thereat  this  knight  grew  inly  glorious 

That  he  should  have  a  love  so  fair  of  place. 

She  was  a  maiden  of  most  quiet  face, 

Tender  of  speech,  and  had  no  hardihood. 

But  was  nigh  feeble  of  her  fearful  blood  ; 

Her  mercy  in  her  was  so  marvellous 

From  her  least  years,  that  seeing  her  schoolfellows 

That  read  beside  her  stricken  with  a  rod, 

She  would  cry  sore,  and  say  some  word  to  God 

That  he  would  ease  her  fellow  of  his  pain. 

Tliere  is  no  touch  of  sun  or  fallen  rain 

That  ever  fell  on  a  more  gracious  thing. 

In  middle  Rome  there  was  in  stone-working 
Tlie  church  of  Venus  painted  royally. 
The  chapels  of  it  were  some  two  or  three. 
In  each  of  them  her  tabernacle  was, 
And  a  v/ide  window  of  six  feet  in  glass 
Colored  with  all  her  works  in  red  and  gold. 
The  altars  had  bright  cloths  and  cups  to  hold 
The  wine  of  Venus  for  the  services, 
]\Iade  out  of  honey  and  crushed  wood-berries 
That  shed  sweet  yellow  through  the  thick  wet  red. 
That  on  higli  days  was  borne  upon  the  head 
Of  Venus'  priest,  for  any  man  to  drink  ; 
So  that  in  drinking  he  should  fall  to  think 
On  some  fair  face,  and  in  the  thought  thereof 
AVorship,  and  such  should  triumph  in  his  love. 
For  tills  soft  wine  that  did  such  grace  and  good 
Was  new  trans-shaped  and  mixed  with  love's  own 

blood, 
That  in  the  fight  in  Trojan  time  was  bled  ; 
For  which  came  such  a  woo  to  Diomed 
That  he  was  stifled  after  in  hard  sea. 
And  some  said  that  this  wine-shedding  should  be 
Made  of  the  falling  of  Adonis'  blood. 
That  curled  upon  the  thorns  and  broken  wood. 


ST.  DOROTHY.  IO5 

And  rouTid  the  gold  silk  shoes  on  Venus'  feet  : 
The  taste  thereof  was  as  hot  honey  sweet, 
And  in  the  month  ran  soft  and  riotous. 
This  was  the  holiness  of  Venus'  house. 

It  was  their  worship,  that  in  August  days 
Twelve  maidens  should   go    through    those   Roman 

ways 
Naked,  and  having  gold  across  their  brows, 
And  their  hair  twisted  in  short  golden  rows. 
To  minister  to  Venus  in  this  wise  ; 
And  twelve  men  chosen  in  their  companies  * 

To  match  these  maidens  by  the  altar-stair. 
All  in  one  habit,  crowned  upon  the  hair. 
Among  these  men  was  chosen  Theophile. 

This  knight  went  out,  and  prayed  a  little  while, 
Holding  Queen  Venus  by  her  hands  and  knees  : 
I  will  give  thee  twelve  royal  images 
Cut  in  glad  gold,  with  marvels  of  wrought  stone, 
For  thy  sweet  priests  to  lean  and  pray  upon, 
Jasper  and  hyacinth  and  chrysopras, 
And  the  strange  Asian  thalamite  that  was 
Hidden  twelve  ages  under  heavy  sea 
Among  the  little  sleepy  peark,  to  be 
A  shrine  lit  over  with  soft  candle-flame 
Burning  all  night  red  as  hot  brows  of  shame, 
So  thou  wilt  be  my  lady  without  sin. 
Goddess  that  art  all  gold  outside  and  in. 
Help  me  to  serve  thee  in  thy  holy  way. 
Thou  knowest.  Love,  that  in  my  bearing  day 
There  shone  a  laugliter  in  the  singing  stars 
Round  the  gold-ceiled  bride-bed  wherein  Mars 
Touched  thee  and  had  tliee  in  your  kissing  wise. 
ISTow,  therefore,  sweet,  kiss  thou  my  maiden's  eyes 
That  they  may  open  graciously  towards  me  ; 
And  this  new  fashion  of  thy  shrine  shall  be 
As  soft  with  gold  as  tliine  own  happy  head. 

The  goddess,  that  was  painted  witli  face  red 
Between  two  long  green  tumbled  sides  of  f^ea. 
Stooped  her  neck  sideways,  and  spake  pleasantly  : 
Thou  shalt  have  grace  as  thou  art  thrall  of  mine. 
And  witli  this  came  a  savor  of  shed  wine, 
And  plucked-out  petals  from  a  rose's  head  : 
And  softly  with  slow  laughs  of  lip  she  said^ — 


106  ST.  DOROTHY. 

Thou  slialt  have  favor  all  thy  days  of  mo. 

Then  came  Theophilus  to  Dorothy, 
Saying  :  0  sweet,  if  one  should  strive  or  speak 
Against  God's  ways,  he  gets  a  beaten  cheek 
For  all  his  wage  and  shame  above  all  men. 
Therefore  I  have  no  will  to  turn  again 
AVhen  God  saith  "go,"  lest  a  worse  tbing  fall  out. 
Then  she,  misdoubting  lest  he  went  about 
To  catch  her  wits,  made  answer  somewhat  thus  : 
I  have  no  will,  my  lord  Theophilus, 
TS  speak  against  this  worthy  word  of  yours  ; 
Knowing  how  God's  will  in  all  speech  endures, 
Tiiat  save  by  grace  there  may  no  tbing  be  said. 
Then  Tbeophile  waxed  light  from  foot  to  head. 
And  softly  fell  upon  this  answering  : 
It  is  well  seen  you  are  a  chosen  thing 
To  do  God  service  in  his  gracious  way. 
I  will  tbat  you  make  haste  and  holiday 
To  go  next  year  upon  the  Venus  stair. 
Covered  none  else,  but  crowned  upon  your  liair, 
And  do  the  service  that  a  maiden  doth. 
Sbe  said  :  But  I  tbat  am  Christ's  niaid  were  loath 
To  do  tbis  thing  tbat  fcath  such  bitter  name. 
Thereat  bis  brows  were  beaten  with  sore  shame, 
And  he  came  off,  and  said  no  other  word. 
Tben  his  eyes  cbanced  upon  his  banner-bird. 
And  be  fell  fingering  at  the  staff  of  it. 
And  laughed  for  wrath,  and  stared  between  his  feet. 
And  out  of  a  chafed  heart  he  sjDake  as  thus  : 
Lo  how  she  japes  at  me  Theophilus, 
Feigning  herself  a  fool,  and  hard  to  love  -^ 
Yet  in  good  time  for  all  she  boasteth  of 
She  shall  be  like  a  little  beaten  bird. 
And  while  his  mouth  was  open  in  that  word, 
He  came  upon  the  house  Janiculum, 
Where  some  went  busily,  and  otber  some 
Talked  in  the  gate  called  the  gate  glorious. 
The  emperor,  which  was  one  Gabalus, 
Sat  over  all  and  drank  chill  wine  alone. 
To  whom  is  come  Tbeophilus  anon, 
And  said  as  thus  :  Beau  sire,  Dieu  vans  aide. 
And  afterward  sat  under  him,  and  said 
All  this  thing  through  as  ye  have  wholly  heard. 


ST.  DOROTHY.  107 

This  Gabalns  laughed  thickly  in  his  beard. 
Yea,  this  is  righteousness  and  maiden  rule. 
Truly,  he  said,  a  maid  is  but  a  fool. 
And  japed  at  them  as  one  full  villanous, 
In  a  lewd  wise,  this  heathen  Gabalus, 
And  sent  his  men  to  bind  her  as  he  bade. 
Thus  have  they  taken  Dorothy  the  maid, 
And  haled  her  forth  as  men  hale  pick-purses  : 
A  little  need  God  knows  they  had  of  this. 
To  hale  her  by  her  maiden  gentle  hair. 
Thus  went  she  lowly,  making  a  soft  prayer, 
As  one  who  stays  the  sweet  wine  in  his  mouth, 
Murmuring  with  eased  lips,  and  is  most  loath 
To  have  done  Avholly  with  the  sweet  of  it  : 

Christ  king,  fair  Christ,  that  knowest  all  men's  wit 
And  all  the  feeble  fashion  of  my  ways, 

0  perfect  God,  that  from  all  yesterdays 
Abidest  whole  with  morrows  perfected, 

1  pray  thee  by  thy  mother's  holy  head. 
Thou  help  me  to  do  right,  that  I  not  slip  : 
I  have  no  speech  nor  strength  upon  my  lip. 
Except  thou  help  me,  who  art  wise  and  sweet. 
Do  this,  too,  for  those  nails  that  clove  thy  feet, 
Let  me  die  maiden  after  many  pains. 

Though  I  be  least  among  thy  handmaidens, 
Doubtless  I  shall  take  death  more  sweetly  thus. 

Now  have  they  brought  her  to  King  Gabalus, 
Who  laughed  in  all  his  throat  some  breathing-whiles. 
]?y  God,  he  said,  if  one  should  leap  two  miles, 
He  were  not  pained  about  the  sides  so  much. 
This  wore  a  soft  thing  for  a  man  to  touch. 
Shall  one  so  chafe  that  hath  such  little  bones  ? 
And  shook  his  throat  with  thick  and  chuckled  moans 
For  laughter  that  she  had  such  holiness. 
What  aileth  thee,  wilt  thou  do  services  ? 
It  were  good  fare  to  fare  as  Venus  doth. 

Then  said  this  lady  with  her  maiden  mouth. 
Shamefaced,  and  something  paler  in  the  cheek  : 
Now,  sir,  albeit  my  wit  and  will  to  s23eak 
Give  me  no  grace  in  sight  of  worthy  men, 
For  all  my  shame  yet  know  I  this  again, 
I  may  not  speak,  nor  after  down-lying 
Rise  up  to  take  delight  in  lute-playing, 


108  ST.  DOROTHY, 

Nov  sing  nor  sleep,  nor  sit  and  fold  my  hands, 

But  my  soul  in  some  measure  understands 

God's  grace  laid  like  a  garment  over  me. 

For  this  fair  God  that  out  of  strong,  sharp  sea* 

Lifted  the  shapely  and  green-colored  land. 

And  hath  the  weight  of  heaven  in  his  hand 

As  one  might  hold  a  bird,  and  under  him 

The  heavy  golden  planets  beam  by  beam 

Building  the  f easting-chambers  of  his  house, 

And  the  large  world  lie  holdeth  with  his  brows. 

And  with  the  light  of  them  astonisheth 

All  place  and  time  and  face  of  life  and  death. 

And  motion  of  the  north  wind  and  the  south. 

And  is  the  sound  within  his  angel's  mouth 

Of  singing  words  and  w^ords  of  thanksgiving, 

And  is  the  color  of  the  latter  spring 

And  heat  upon  the  summer  and  the  sun, 

And  is  beginning  of  all  things  begun, 

And  gathers  in  him  all  things  to  their  end, 

And  with  the  fingers  of  his  hand  doth  bend 

The  .stretched-out  sides  of  heaven  like  a  sail. 

And  with  his  breath  he  maketh  the  red  pale. 

And  fills  with  blood  faint  faces  of  men  dead. 

And  with  the  sound  between  his  lips  are  fed 

Iron  and  fire  and  the  white  body  of  snow, 

And  blossom  of  all  trees  in  places  low, 

And  small  bright  herbs  about  the  little  hills. 

And  fruit  pricked  softly  with  birds'  tender  bills. 

And  flight  of  foam  about  green  fields  of  sea. 

And  fourfold  strength  of  the  great  winds  that  be 

Moved  always  outward  from  beneath  his  feet, 

And  growth  of  grass  and  growth  of  sheaved  wheat 

And  all  green  flower  of  goodly-growing  lands  ; 

And  all  these  things  he  gathers  with  his  hands. 

And  covers  all  their  beauty  with  his  wings  : 

The  same,  even  God  that  governs  all  these  things, 

Ilath  set  my  feet  to  be  upon  his  ways. 

Now,  therefore,  for  no  painfulness  of  days 

I  shall  put  off  this  service  bound  on  me. 

Also,  fair  sir,  ye  know  this  certainly. 

How  God  was  "in  his  flesh  full  chaste  and  meek, 

And  gave  his  face  to  shame,  and  either  cheek 

Gave  up  to  smiting  of  men  tyrannous. 


ST.  DOROTHY.  109 

And  here  with  a  great  voice  this  Gabalns 
Cried  out  and  said  :  By  God's  blood  and  his  bones. 
This  were  good  game  betwixen  night  and  nones 
For  one  to  sit  and  hearken  to  such  saws  : 
I  were  as  lief  fall  in  some  big  beast's  jaws 
As  hear  these  women's  jaw-teeth  chattering  ; 
By  God  a  woman  is  the  harder  thing, 
One  may  not  put  a  hook  into  her  mouth. 
Now  by  St.  Luke  I  am  so  sore  adrouth 
For  all  these  saws,  I  must  needs  drink  again  ; 
But  I  pray  God  deliver  all  us  men 
From  all  such  noise  of  women  and  their  heat. 
That  is  a  noble  scripture,  well  I  weet. 
That  likens  women  to  an  empty  can  ; 
When  God  said  that,  he  was  a  full  Avise  man. 
I  trow  no  man  may  blame  him  as  for  that. 

And  herewithal  lie  drank  a  draught,  and  spat, 
And  said  :  'Now  shall  I  make  an  end  hereof. 
Come  near,  all  men,  and  hearken  for  God's  love, 
And  ye  shall  hear  a  jest  or  twain,  God  wot. 
And  spake  as  thus  with  mouth  full  thick  and  hot : 
But  thou  do  this,  tliou  shalt  be  shortly  slain. 
Lo,  sir,  she  said,  this  death  and  all  this  pain 
I  take  in  penance  of  my  bitter  sins. 
Yea,  now,  quoth  Gabalus,  this  game  begins. 
Lo,  without  sin  one  shall  not  live  a  span. 
Lo,  this  is  she  that  would  not  look  on  man 
Between  her  fingers  folded  in  thwart  wise. 
See  how  her  shame  hath  smitten  in  her  eyes 
That  was  so  clean,  she  had  not  heard  of  shame. 
Certes,  he  said,  by  Gabalus  my  name, 
This  two  years  back  I  was  not  so  well  pleased. 
This  were  good  mirth  for  sick  men  to  be  eased, 
And  rise  up  whole  and  laugh  at  hearing  of. 
I  pray  thee,  show  us  something  of  thy  love. 
Since  thou  wast  maid  thy  gown  is  waxen  wide. 
Yea,  maid  I  am,  she  said,  and  somewhat  sighed. 
As  one  who  thought  upon  the  low  fair  house 
Where  she  sat  working,  Avith  soft  bended  brows 
Watching  her  threads,  among  the  scdiool-maidens. 
And  she  thought  well,  now  God    liad  brought  her 

thence, 
She  should  not  come  to  sew  her  gold  again. 


110  ST.  DOROTHY. 

Then  cried  King  Gabalns  upon  his  meu 
To  have  her  forth,  and  draw  her  with  steel  gins. 
And  us  i]  man  hag-ridden  beats  and  grins, 
And  bends  his  body  sidelong  in  his  bed, 
So  wagged  he  with  his  body  and  knave's  head. 
Gaping  at  her,  and  blowing  with  his  breath. 
And  in  good  time  he  gat  an  evil  death 
Out  of  his  lewdness  with  his  cursed  wives  : 
His  bones  were  hewn  asunder  as  with  knives 
For  his  misliving,  certes  it  is  said. 
But  all  the  evil  wrought  upon  this  maid. 
It  were  full  hard  for  one  to  handle  it. 
For  her  soft  blood  was  shed  ui)on  her  feet. 
And  all  her  body's  color  bruised  and  faint. 
But  she,  as  one  abiding  God's  great  saint, 
Spake  not  nor  wept  for  all  this  travail  hard. 
Wherefore  the  king  commanded  afterward 
To  slay  her  j^resently  in  all  men's  sight. 
And  it  was  now  an  hour  upon  the  night. 
And  winter-time,  and  a  few  stars  began. 
The  weather  was  yet  feeble  and  all  wan 
For  beating  of  a  weighty  wind  and  snow. 
And  she  came  walking  in  soft  wise  and  slow. 
And  many  men  with  faces  piteous. 
Then  came  this  heavy  cursing  Gabalus, 
That  swore  full  hard  into  liis  drunken  beard  ; 
And  faintly  after  Avithout  any  word 
Came  Theophile  some  paces  off  the  king. 
And  in  the  middle  of  this  wayfaring 
Full  tenderly  beholding  her  he  said  : 

There  is  no  word  of  comfort  with  men  dead, 
Nor  any  face  and  color  of  things  sweet ; 
But  always  with  lean  cheeks  and  lifted  feet 
These  dead  men  lie  all  aching  to  the  blood 
With  bitter  cold,  their  brows  withouten  liood 
Beating  for  chill,  their  bodies  swathed  full  thin  ; 
Alas  !  what  hire  shall  any  have  herein 
To  give  his  life  and  get  such  bitterness  ? 
Also  the  soul  going  forth  bodiless 
Is  hurt  with  naked  cold,  and  no  man  saith 
If  there  be  house  or  covering  for  death 
To  hide  the  soul  that  is  discomfortetl. 
Then  she  beholdino-  him  a  little  said  : 


ST.  DOROTHY.  lit 

Alas  !  fair  lord,  ye  have  no  wit  of  this  ; 
For  on  one  side  death  is  full  poor  of  bliss, 
x\iid,  as  ye  say,  full  sharp  of  bone  and  lean  ; 
But  on  the  other  side  is  good  and  green, 
And  luith  soft  flower  of  tender-colored  hair 
Grown  on  his  head,  and  a  red  mouth  as  fair 
As  may  be  kissed  with  lips  ;  thereto  his  face 
I  ^  as  God's  face,  and  in  a  perfect  place 
Full  of  all  snn  and  color  of  straight  boughs, 
And  waterheads  about  a  painted  house 
That  hath  a  mile  of  flowers  either  way 
Outward  from  it,  and  blossom-grass  of  May 
Thickening  on  many  a  side  for  length  of  heat, 
Ilath  God  set  death  upon  a  noble  seat 
Covered  with  green  and  flowered  in  the  fold, 
In  likeness  of  a  great  king  grown  full  old 
And  gentle  with  new  temperance  of  blood ; 
And  on  his  brows  a  purfled  purple  hood. 
They  may  not  carry  any  golden  thing  ; 
And  plays  some  tune  with  subtle  fingering 
On  a  small  cithern,  full  of  tears  and  sleep. 
And  heavy  pleasure  that  is  quick  to  Aveep, 
And  sorrow  with  the  honey  in  her  mouth  ; 
And  for  this  might  of  music  that  he  doth. 
Are  all  souls  drawn  toward  him  with  great  love. 
And  weep  for  sweetness  of  the  noise  thereof, 
And  bow  to  him  with  worship  of  their  knees  ; 
And  all  the  field  is  thick  witii  companies 
Of  fair-clothed  men  that  play  on  shawms  and  lutes, 
And  gather  honey  of  tlie  yellow  fruits 
Between  the  branches  waxen  soft  and  wide  ; 
And  all  this  peace  endures  in  eitlier  side 
Of  the  green  land,  and  God  beholdeth  all. 
And  this  is  girdled  witli  a  round  fair  wall 
Made  a  red  stone,  and  cool  with  heavy  leaves 
Grown  out  against  it,  and  green  blossom  cleaves 
To  the  green  chinks,  and  lesser  wall-weed  sweet, 
Kissing  the  crannies  that  are  split  with  heat. 
And  branches  where  the  summer  draws  to  head. 
And  Theophile  burnt  in  the  cheek,  and  said  : 
Yea,  could  one  see  it,  this  were  marvellous. 
I  pray  you,  at  your  coming  to  this  house. 
Give  me  some  leaf  of  all  those  tree-branches  ; 


112  ST.  DOROTHY. 

Seeing  how  sharp  and  white  our  weather  is, 
Tliere  is  no  green  nor  gracious  reil  to  see. 

Yea,  sir,  she  said,  that  shall  I  certainly. 
And  from  her  long  sweet  throat  without  a  fleck 
Undid  the  gold,  and  through  her  stretched-out  neck 
The  cold  axe  clove,  and  smote  away  her  head  : 
Out  of  her  throat  tlie  tender  blood  full  red 
Fell  suddenly  through  all  her  long  soft  hair. 
And  with  good  speed  for  hardness  of  the  air 
Each  man  departed  to  his  house  again. 

Lo  !  as  fair  color  in  the  face  of  men 
At  seed-time  of  their'blood,  or  in  such  wise 
As  a  thing  seen  increaseth  in  men's  eyes, 
Caught  first  far  off  by  sickly  fits  of  sight, — 
So  a  word  said,  if  one  shall  hear  aright, 
Abides  against  the  season  of  its  growth. 
This  Theophile  went  slowly,  as  one  doth 
That  is  not  sure  for  sickness  of  his  feet  ; 
And,  counting  the  white  stonework  of  the  street. 
Tears  fell  out  of  his  eyes  for  wrath  and  love. 
Making  him  weep  more  for  the  shame  thereof 
Than  for  true  pain  :  so  went  he  half  a  mile. 
And  women  mocked  him,  saying  :  Theophile, 
Lo,  she  is  dead  ;  what  shall  a  woman  have 
That  loveth  such  an  one  ?  so  Christ  me  save, 
I  were  as  lief  to  love  a  man  new-hung. 
Surely  this  man  has  bitten  on  his  tongue. 
This  makes  him  sad  and  writhled  in  his  face. 

And  when  they  came  upon  the  paven  place 
That  was  called  sometime  the  place  amorous. 
There  came  a  child  before  Theophilus, 
Bearing  a  basket,  and,  suddenly  : 
Fair  sir,  this  is  my  mistress  Dorothy 
That  sends  you  gifts  ;  and  with  this  he  was  gone. 
In  all  this  earth  there  is  not  such  an  one 
For  color  and  straight  stature  made  so  fair. 
The  tender  growing  gold  of  his  pure  hair 
Was  as  wheat  growing,  and  his  mouth  as  flame. 
Crod  called  him  Holy  after  his  own  name. 
With  gold  cloth  like  fire  burning  he  was  clad. 
But  for  the  fair  green  basket  that  he  had. 
It  was  filled  up  with  heavy  white  and  red  ; 
Gieat  roses  stained  still  where  the  first  rose  bled. 


THE  TWO  DREAMS.  113 

Burning  at  heart  for  sliame  their  lieart  withhokls  ; 

And  the  sad  color  of  strong  marigolds 

That  have  the  sun  to  kiss  their  lijjs  for  love  ; 

The  flower  that  Venus'  hair  is  woven  of. 

The  color  of  fair  apples  in  the  sun, 

Late  peaches  gathered  when  the  heat  was  done. 

And  the  slain  air  got  hreath  ;  and  after  these 

The  fair  faint-headed  po])pies  drunk  with  ease. 

And  heaviness  of  hollow  lilies  red. 

Then  cried  they  all  that  saw  these  things,  and  said 
It  was  God's  doing,  and  was  marvellous. 
And  in  hrief  while  this  knight  Theophilus 
Is  waxen  full  of  faith,  and  witnesseth 
Before  the  king,  of  God  and  love  and  death, 
For  which  the  king  bade  hang  him  presently. 
A  gallows  of  a  goodly  piece  of  tree 
This  Gabalus  hath  made  to  hang  him  on. 
Forth  of  this  world  lo  Theophile  is  gone 
With  a  wried  neck — God  give  us  better  fare 
Than  his  that  hath  a  twisted  throat  to  wear  ! 
But  truly  for  his  love  God  hath  him  brought 
There  Avhere  his  heavy  body  grieves  him  nought, 
Nor  all  the  peoj^le  plucking  at  his  feet ; 
But  in  his  face  his  lady^s  face  is  sweet. 
And  through  his  lips  her  kissing  lips  are  gone. 
God  send  him  peace,  and  joy  of  such  an  one  ! 

This  is  the  story  of  8t.  Dorothy. 
I  will  you  of  your  mercy  pray  for  me 
Because  I  wrote  these  sayings  for  your  grace. 
That  I  may  one  day  see  her  in  the  face. 


THE  TWO  DREAMS. 

(from  BOCCACCIO.) 

I  WILL  that  if  I  say  a  heavy  thing 

Your   tongues   forgive    me ;    seeing   ye    know   that 

spring 
Has  flecks  and  fits  of  jDain  to  keep  her  sweet. 
And  walks  somewhile  with  winter-bitten  feet. 
Moreover  it  sounds  often  well  to  let 
One  string,  when  ye  play  music,  keep  at  fret 


114  THE  TWO  DREAMS. 

The  whole  song  through  ;  one  petal  that  is  dead 

Confirms  the  roses,  be  they  white  or  red  ; 

Dead  sorrow  is  not  sorrowful  to  hear 

As  the  thick  noise  that  breaks  mid  weejjing  were  ; 

The  sick  sound  aching  in  a  lifted  throat 

Turns  to  sharp  silver  of  a  perfect  note  ; 

And  though  the  rain  falls  often,  and  with  rain 

Late  autumn  falls  on  the  old  red  leaves  like  pain, 

I  deem  that  God  is  not  disquieted. 

Also  while  men  are  fed  with  wine  and  bread. 

They  shall  be  fed  with  sorrow  at  his  hand. 

There  grew  a  rose-garden  in  Florence  land 
More  fair  than  many  ;  all  red  summers  through 
The  leaves  smelt  sweet  and  sharp  of  rain,  and  blew 
Sideways  with  tender  wind  ;  and  therein  fell 
Sweet  sound  wherewith  the  green  Avaxed  audible, 
As  a  bird's  will  to  sing  disturbed  his  throat. 
And  set  the  sharp  wings  forward  like  a  boat 
Pushed  through  soft  water,  moving  his  brown  side 
Smooth-shapen  as  a  maid's,  and  shook  with  pride 
His  deep  warm  bosom,  till  the  heavy  sun's 
Set  face  of  heat  stopped  all  the  songs  at  once. 
The  ways  were  clean  to  walk,  and  delicate  ; 
And  when  the  windy  white  of  March  grew  late, 
Before  the  trees  took  heart  to  face  the  sun 
With  ravelled  raiment  of  lean  winter  on. 
The  roots  were  thick  and  hot  with  hollow  grass. 

Some  roods  away  a  lordly  house  there  was. 
Cool  with  broad  courts  and  latticed  passage  Avet 
From  rush-flowers  and  lilies  ripe  to  set, 
Sown  close  among  the  strewings  of  the  floor  ; 
And  either  Avail  of  the  slow  corridor 
Was  dim  Avith  deep  device  of  gracious  things  ; 
Some  angel's  steady  mouth  and  Aveight  of  wings 
Shut  to  the  side  ;  or  Peter  Avith  straight  stole 
And  beard  cut  black  against  the  aureole 
That  spanned  his  head  from  nape  to  crown  ;  there 
Mary's  gold  hair,  thick  to  the  girdle-tie 
Wherein  Avas  bound  a  child  with  tender  feet ; 
Or  the  broad  cross  Avith  blood  nigh  brown  on  it. 

Within  this  house  a  righteous  lord  abode, 
Ser  Averardo  ;  patient  of  his  mood, 
And  just  of  judgment  ;  and  to  child  he  had 


THE  TWO  DREAMS.  115 

A  maid  so  sweet  that  ber  mere  siglit  made  glad 
Men  sorrowing,  and  unbound  the  brows  of  hate  ; 
And  wliere  she  came,  the  lips  that  pain  made  strait 
Waxed  warm  and  wide,  and  from  unteiider  grew 
Tender  as  those  that  sleep  brings  ^^'itieuce  to. 
Such  long  locks  had  she,  that  with  knee  to  chin 
She    might    have    wrapped    and    warmed    her    feet 

therein. 
Right  seldom  fell  her  face  on  weeping  wise  ; 
Gold  hair  she  had,  and  golden-colored  eyes, 
Filled  with  clear  light  and  fire  and  large  repose 
Like  a  fair  hound's  ;  no  man  there  is  but  knows 
Her  face  was  white,  and  thereto  she  was  tall ; 
In  no  wise  lacked  there  any  praise  at  all 
To  her  most  perfect  and  pure  maiden-hood  ; 
No  sin  I  think  there  was  in  all  her  blood. 

She,  where  a  gold  grate  shut  the  roses  in. 
Dwelt  daily  through  deep   summer  weeks,   through 

green 
Flushed  hours  of  rain  upon  the  leaves  ;  and  there 
Love  made  him  room  and  sparse  to  worship  her 
With  tender  worship  of  bowed  knees,  and  wrought 
Such  pleasure  as  the  pained  sense  palates  not 
For  weariness,  but  at  one  taste  undoes 
The  heart  of  its  strong  sweet,  is  ravenous 
Of  all  the  hidden  honey  ;  words  and  sense 
Fail  through  the  tune's  imperious  prevalence. 

In  a  poor  house  this  lover  kept  apart. 
Long  communing  with  patience  next  his  heart 
If  love  of  his  miglit  move  that  face  at  all. 
Tuned  evenwise  with  colors  musical ; 
Then  after  length  of  days  he  said  thus  :  "  Love, 
For  love's  own  sake  and  for  the  love  tliereof. 
Let  no  harsh  Avords  untune  your  gracious  mood  ; 
For  good  it  were,  if  any  thing  be  good, 
To  comfort  me  in  this  pain's  plague  of  mine  ; 
Seeing  thus,  how  neither  sleep  nor  bread  nor  wine 
Seems  pleasant  to  me,  yea  no  thing  that  is 
Seems  pleasant  to  me  ;  only  I  know  this. 
Love's  ways  are  sharp  for  palms  of  piteous  feet 
To  travel,  but  the  end  of  such  is  sweet  : 
Now  do  with  me  as  seemeth  you  the  best." 
She  mused  a  little,  as  one  holds  his  guest 


116  THE  TWO  DREAMS. 

By  the  hand  mushig,  with  lier  face  borne  down  : 
Then  said,  "  Yea,  though  such  bitter  seed  be  sown. 
Have  no  more  care  of  all  that  you  have  said  ; 
Since  if  there  is  no  sleep  will  bind  your  head, 
Lo,  I  am  fain  to  help  you  certainly  : 
Christ  knoweth,  sir,  if  I  would  have  you  die  ; 
There  is  no  pleasure  when  a  man  is  dead." 
Thereat  he  kissed  her  hands  and  yellow  head. 
And  clipped  her  fair  long  body  many  times  : 
I  have  no  wit  to  shape  in  written  rhymes 
A  scanted  tithe  of  this  great  joy  they  had. 

They  were  too  near  love's  secret  to  be  glad, 
As  whoso  deems  the  core  will  surely  melt 
From  the  warm  fruit  his  lips  caress,  hath  felt 
Some  bitter  kernel  where  the  teeth  shut  hard  ; 
Or  as  sweet  music  sharpens  afterward, 
Being  half  disrelished  both  for  sharp  and  sweet ; 
As  sea-water,  having  killed  over-heat 
In  a  man's  body,  chills  it  with  faint  ache  ; 
So  their  sense,  burdened  only  for  love's  sake, 
Failed  for  pure  love  ;  y«t  so  time  served  their  wit, 
They  savecl  each  day  some  gold  reserves  of  it. 
Being  wiser  in  love's  riddle  than  such  be 
Whom  fraguients  feed  with  his  chance  charity. 
All  things  felt  sweet  were  felt  sweet  overmuch  ; 
The  rose-thoru's  jii-ickle  dangerous  to  touch, 
And  flecks  of  fire  in  the  thin  leaf-shadows  ; 
Too  keen  the  breathed  honey  of  the  rose, 
Its  red  too  harsh  a  weight  on  feasted  eyes ; 
They  were  so  far  gone  in  love's  histories. 
Beyond  all  shape  and  color  and  mere  breath. 
Where  pleasure  has  for  kinsfolk  sleej:)  and  death. 
And  strength  of  soul  and  body  waxen  blind 
For  weariness,  and  flesh  entoiled  with  mind, 
When  the  keen  edge  of  sense  foretasteth  sin. 

Even  this  green  place  the  summer  caught  them  in 
Seemed  half  deflowered  and  sick  with  beaten  leaves 
In  their  strayed  eyes  ;  these  gold  flower-fumed  eves 
Burnt  out  to  make  the  sun's  love-offering. 
The  midnoon's  i^rayer,  the  rose's  thanksgiving, 
The  trees'  weight  burdening  the  strengthless  air. 
The  shape  of  her  stilled  eyes,  her  colored  hair. 
Her  body's  balance  from  the  moving  feet, — - 


THE  XWO  DREAMS.  117 

All  this,  found  f;iJr,  lacked  yet  one  grain  of  sweet 
It  had  some  warm  weeks  back  :  so  ])erisheth 
On  May's  new  lip  the  tender  ilpril  breath  : 
So  those  same  walks  the  wind  sowed  lilies  in 
All  April  through,  and  all  their  latter  kin 
Of  languid  leaves  whereon  the  autumn  blows, — 
The  dead  red  raiment  of  the  last  year's  rose, — 
The  last  year's  laurel,  and  the  last  year's  love. 
Fade,  and  grow  tilings  that  death  grows  weary  of. 

What  man  will  gather  in  red  summer-time 
The  fruit  of  some  obscure  and  hoary  rhyme 
Heard  last  midwinter,  taste  the  heart  in  it, 
Mould  the  smooth  semitones  afresh,  refit 
The  fair  limbs  ruined,  flush    the  dead  blood  through 
With  color,  make  all  broken  beauties  new 
For  love's  new  lesson — shall  not  such  find  pain 
When  the  marred  music  laboring  in  his  brain 
Frets  him  with  sweet  sharp  fragments,  and  lets  slip 
One  word  that  might  leave  satisfied  his  lip, — 
One  touch  that  might  put  fire  in  all  the  chords  ? 
This  was  her  j)ain  :  to  miss  from  all  sweet  words 
Some  taste  of  sound,  diverse  and  delicate, — 
Some  speech  the  old  love  found  out  to  compensate 
For  seasons  of  shut  lips  and  drowsiness  ; 
Some  grace,  some  word  the  old  love  found  out  to 

bless 
Passionless  months  and  undeli^^'lited  weeks. 
The  flowers  had  lost  their  summer-scented  cheeks, 
Their  lips  were  no  more  sweet  than  daily  breath  : 
The  year  was  plagued  with  instances  of  death. 

So  fell  it,  these  were  sitting  in  cool  grass 
With  leaves  about,  and  many  a  bird  there  was 
Where  the  green  shadow  thickliest  impleached 
Soft  fruit  and  writhen  spray  and  blossom  bleached 
Dry  in  the  sun  or  washed  with  rains  to  white  : 
Her  girdle  was  pure  silk,  the  bosom  bright 
With  purple  as  purple  water  and  gold  wrought  in. 
One  branch  had  touched  with  dusk  her  lips  and  chin, 
Made  violet  of  the  throat,  abashed  with  shade 
The  breast's  bright  plaited  work  :  but  nothing  fraye;l 
The  sun's  large  kiss  on  the  luxurious  hair. 
Her  beauty  was  new  color  to  the  air. 
And  music  to  the  silent  many  birds. 


lis  THE  TWO  DREAMS. 

Love  was  au-li lingered  for  some  perfect  words 

To  praise  her  wath  ;  but  only  her  low  name 

"  Andrevuola"  came  thrice,  and  thrice  put  shame 

In  her  clear  cheek,  so  fruitful  with  new  red 

That  for  pure  love  straightway  shame's  self  was  dead. 

Then  with  lids  gatliered  as  who  late  had  wept, 
She  began  saying,  "I  have  so  little  slept, 
My  lids  drowse  now  against  the  very  sun  ; 
Yea,  the  brain  aching  with  a  dream  begun 
Beats  like  a  fitful  blood  ;  kiss  but  both  brows, 
And  you  shall  pluck  my  thoughts  grown  dangerous 
Almost  away."     He  said  thus,  kissing  them  : 
"  0  sole  sweet  thing  that  God  is  glad  to  name, 
My  one  gold  gift,  if  dreams  be  sharp  and  sore 
Shall  not  the  waking  time  increase  much  more 
With  taste  aiid  sound,  sweet  eyesight  or  sweet  scent? 
Has  any  heat  too  hard  and  insolent 
Burnt  bare  the  tender  married  leaves,  undone 
The  maiden  grass  shut  under  from  the  sun  ? 
Where  in  this  world  is  room  enough  for  pain  ?" 

The  feverish  finger  of  love  hnd  touched  again 
Her  lips  with  happier  blood  ;  the  pain  lay  meek 
In  her  fair  face,  nor  altered  lip  nor  cheek 
With  pallor  or  with  pulse  ;  but  in  her  mouth 
Love  thirsted  as  a  man  wayfaring  doth. 
Making  it  humble  as  weak  hunger  is. 
She  lay  close  to  him,  bade  do  this  and  this. 
Say  that,  sing  thus  :  then  almost  weeping-ripe 
Crouched,  then  laughed  low.     As  one  that  fain  would 

wipe 
The  old  record  out  of  old  things  done  and  dead, 
She  rose,  she  heaved  her  hands  up,  and  waxed  red 
For  wilful  heart  and  blameless  fear  of  blame  ; 
Saying,  "Though  my  wits  be  w^eak,  this  is  no  shame 
For  a  poor  maid  whom  love  so  punisheth 
With  heats  of  hesitation  and  stopped  breath 
That  with  my  dreams  1  live  yet  heavily 
For  pure  sad  heart  and  faith's  humility. 
Now  be  not  wroth,  and  I  will  show  you  this. 

"  Methought  our  lips  upon  their  second  kiss 
Met  in  this  place,  and  a  fair  day  we  had, 
And  fair  soft  leaves  that  waxed  and  were  not  sad 
With  shaken  rain,  or  bitten  through  with  drouth  ; 


THE  TWO  DREAMS.  II9 

Wlieu  I,  beholding  ever  liow  your  mouth 

Waited  for  luiiie,  the  throat  being  fallen  back, 

{Saw  crawl  thereout  a  live  thing  flaked  with  black 

Specks  of  brute  sliuie  and  leper-colored  scale, 

A  devil's  hide  with  foul  flame-writhen  grail 

Fashioned  where  hell's  heat  festers  loathsomest ; 

And  that  brief  speech  may  ease  me  of  the  rest, 

Thus  were  3'ou  slain  and  eaten  of  the  thing. 

My  waked  eyes  felt  tbe  new  day  shuddering 

On  their  low  lids,  felt  the  whole  east  so  beat, 

Pant  with  close  pulse  of  such  a  plague-struck  heat. 

As  if  the  palpitating  dawn  drew  breath 

For  horror,  breathing  between  life  and  death. 

Till  the  sun  sprang  blood-bright  and  violent." 

So  finishing,  her  soft  strength  wholly  spent, 

She  gazed  eacli  way,  lest  some  brute-hooved  thing. 

The  timeless  travail  of  hell's  child-bearing, 

Should  threat  upon  the  sudden  :  whereat  he. 

For  relish  of  her  tasted  misery 

And  tender  little  thornprick  of  her  pain, 

Laughed  with  mere  love.     What  lover  among  men 

But  hath  his  sense  fed  sovereignly  'twixt  whiles 

With  tears  and  covered  eyelids  and  sick  smiles 

And  soft  disaster  of  a  pained  face  ? 

What  pain  established  in  so  sweet  a  place, 

But  the  plucked  leaf  of  it  smells  fragrantly  ? 

What  color  burning  man's  wide-open  eye 

But  may  be  pleasurably  seen  ?  what  sense 

Keeps  in  its  hot  sharp  extreme  violence 

No  savor  of  sweet  things  ?     The  bereaved  blood 

And  emptied  flesh  in  their  most  broken  mood 

Fail  not  so  wliolly,  famish  not  when  thus 

Past  honey  keeps  the  starved  lip  covetous. 

Therefore  this  speech  from  a  glad  mouth  began. 

Breathed  in  her  tender  hair  and  temples  wan 

Like  one  prolonged  kiss  while  the  lips  had  breath  : 

'•  Sleep,  that  abides  in  vassalage  of  death 

And  in  death's  service  wears  out  half  his  age, 

Ilath  his  dreams  full  of  deadly  vassalage, 

Shadow  and  sound  of  things  ungracious  ; 

Fan*  shallow  faces,  hooded  bloodless  bi-ows. 

And  mouths  past  kissing  ;  yea,  myself  have  had 

As  harsh  a  dream  as  holds  your  eyelids  sad. 


120  THE  TWO  DREAMS. 

"This  dream  I  tell  you  came  three  uights  ago  :  ■ 
111  full  mid  sleej)  I  took  a  whim  to  know 
How  sweet  things  might  be  ;  so  I  turned  and  thought^ 
But  save  my  dream  all  sweet  availed  me  not. 
First  came  a  smell  of  pounded  spice  and  scent 
Such  as  God  ripens  in  some  continent 
Of  utmost  amber  in  the  Syrian  sea  ; 
And  breaths  as  though  some  costly  rose  could  be 
Spoiled  slowly,  wasted  by  some  bitter  fire 
To  bum  the  sweet  out  leaf  by  leaf,  and  tire 
The  flower's  poor  heart  with  heat  and  waste,  to  make 
Strong  magic  for  some  perfumed  woman's  sake. 
Then  a  cool  naked  sense  beneath  my  feet 
Of  bud  and  blossom  ;  and  sound  of   veins    that  beat 
As  if  a  lute  should  jday  of  its  own  heart 
And  fearfully,  not  smitten  of  either  jiart  ; 
And  all  my  blood  it  filled  with  sharp    and  sweet 
As  gold  swoln  grain  fills  out  the  husked  wheat  ; 
Sol  rose  naked  from  the  bed,  and  stood 
Counting  the  mobile  measure  in  my  blood 
Some  pleasant    while,   and  and  through  each    limb 

there   came 
Swift  little  pleasures  pungent  as  a   flame, 
Felt  in  the  thrilling  flesh  and  veins  as  much 
As  the  outer  curls  that  feel   the   comb's  first  touch 
Thrill  to  the  roots  and  shiver  as  from  fire  ; 
And  blind  between  my  dreams  and  my  desire 
I  seemed  to  stand,  and  held  my  spirit  still 
Lest  tliis  should  cease.     A  cliild  whose  fingers  spill 
Honey  from  cells  forgotten  of  the  bee 
Is  less  afraid  to  stir  the  hive  and  see 
Some  wasp's  bright  black  inside,  than  I  to  feel 
Some  finger-touch  disturb  the  flesh  like  steel. 
I  prayed  thus  :  Let  me  catch  a  secret  here 
So  sv/eet,  it  sharpens  the  sweet  taste  of  fear. 
And  takes  the  mouth  with  edge  of  wine;  I  would 
Have  here  some  color  and  smooth  shape  as  good 
As  those  in  heaven  whom  the  chief  garden  hides 
With  low   grape-blossom  veiling   their  white  sides, 
And  lesser  tendrils  thot  so  blind  and  bind 
Their  eyes  and  feet,  that  if  one  come  behind 
To  touch  their  hair  they  see  not,  neither  fly  ; 
This  would  I  see  in  heaven,  and  not  die. 


THE  TWO  DREAMS.  121 

So  praying,  T  had  nigli  cried  out  and  knelt, 

So  wholly  my  prayer  filled  me:   till  I  felt 

In  the  dumb  night's  warm  weight  of  glowing  gloom 

Somewhat  that  altered  all  my  sleeping-rooUi, 

And  made  it  like  a  green  low  jilace  wherein 

Maids  mix  to  bathe  :  one  sets  her  small  warm  chiu 

Against  a  ripple,  that  the  angry  pearl 

May  flow  like  flame  about  her  :  the  next  curl 

Dips  in  some  eddy  colored  of  the  sun 

To  wash  the  dust  well  out  :  another  one 

Holds  a  straight  ankle  in  her  hand  and  swings 

With  lavish  body  sidelong,  so  that  rings 

Of  sweet  fierce  water,  swollen  and  s^jlendid,  fail 

All  round  her  fine  and  floated  body  pale, 

Swayed  flower-fashion,  and  her  balanced  side 

Swerved  edgeways  lets  the  weiglit  of  water  slide, 

As  taken  in  some  underflow  of  sea 

Swerves  the  banked  gold  of  sea-flowers  ;  but  she 

Pulls  down  some  branch  to  keep  her  perfect  head 

Clear  of  the  river  :  even  from  wall  to  bed, 

I  tell  you,  was  my  room  transfigured  so. 

Sweet,  green  and  warm  it  was,  nor  could  one  know 

If  there  were  walls  or  leaves,  or  if  there  was 

No  bed's  green  curtain,  but  mere  geiUle  grass. 

There  were  set  also  hard  against  the  feet 

Gold  plates  with  honey  and  green  grapes  to  eat. 

With  the  cool  water's  noise  to  hear  in  rhymes  : 

And  a  wind  warmed  me  full  of  furze  and  limes 

And  all  hot  sweets  the  heavy  summer  fills 

To  the  round  brim  of  smooth  cup-shapen  hills. 

Next  the  grave  walking  of  a  wouum's  feet 

Made  my  veins  hesitate,  and  gracious  heat 

Made  thick  the  lids  and  leaden  on  mine  eyes  : 

And  I  thought  ever,  surely  it  were  wise 

Not  yet  to  see  her  :  this  may  last  (who  knows  ?) 

Five  minutes  ;  the  poor  rose  is  twice  a  rose 

Because  it  turns  a  face  to  her,  the  wind 

Sing   that  way  ;  hath  this  woman  ever  sinned, 

I  wonder  ?  as  a  boy  with  apple-rind, 

I  played  with  pleasures,  made  them  to  my  mind. 

Changed  each  ere  tasting,     AVhen  she  came  indeed, 

First  her  hair  touched  me,  then  I  grew  to  feed 

On  the  sense  of  her  hand  ;  her  mouth  at  last 


122  THE  TWO  DREAMS. 

Touched  me  between  the  cheek  and  lip,  and  past 

Over  my  face  with  ivisses  here  and  there 

Sown  in  and  out  across  tlie  eyes  and  hair. 

Still  I  said  notliing  ;  till  she  set  her  face 

More  close  and  harder  on  the  kissing  place, 

And  her  mouth  caught   like  a   snake's   mouth,  and 

stung 
So  faint  and  tenderly,  the  fang  scarce  clung 
More  than  a  bird's  foot  :  yet  a  wound  it  grew, 
A  great  one,  let  this  red  mark  witness  you 
Under  the  left  breast  ;  and  the  stroke  thereof 
So  clove  my  sense  that  I  woke  out  of  love, 
And  knew  not  what  this  dream  was,  nor  had  wit  ; 
But  now  God  knows  if  I  have  skill  of  it." 

Hereat  she  laid  one  palm  against  her  lips 
To  stop  their  trembling  ;  as  when  water  slips 
Out  of  a  beak-mouthed  vessel  with  faint  noise. 
And  chuckles  in  the  narrowed  throat,  and  cloys 
The  carven  rims  with    murmuring,  so  came 
Words  in  her  lips  with  no  word  right  of  them, 
A  beaten  speech  thick  and  disconsolate. 
Till  his  smile  ceasing  waxed  compassionate 
Of  her  sore  fear  that  grew  from  anything, — 
The  sound  of  the  strong  summer  thickening 
In  heated  leaves  of  the  smooth  apple-trees  : 
The  day's  breath  felt  about  the  ash-branches. 
And  noises  of  the  noon  whose  weight  still  grew 
On  the  hot  heavy-headed  flowers,  and  drew 
Their  red  mouths  open  till  the  rose-heart  aclied  ; 
For  eastward  all  the  crowding  rose  was  slaked 
And  soothed  with  shade  :  but  westward  all  its  growth 
Seemed  to  breathe  hard  with  heat  as  a  man  doth 
Who  feels  his  temples  newly  feverous. 
And  even  with  such  motion  in  her  brows 
As  that  num  hath  in  whom  sick  days  begin. 
She  turned  her  throat  and   spake,   her  voice  being 

thin 
As  a  sick  man's,  sndden  and  tremulous  ; 
"  Sweet,  if  this  end  be  come  indeed  on  us. 
Let  us  love  more  ;  "  and  held  his  mouth  with  hers. 
As  the  first  sound  of  flooded  hill-waters 
Is  heard  by  people  of  the  meadow-grass, 
Or  ever  a  wandering  waif  of  ruin  pass 


THE  TWO  DREAMS.  123 

With  whirling  stones  and  foam  of  the  brown  stream 

Flaked  ^yith  fierce  yellow  :  so  beholding  him 

She  felt  before  tears  came  her  eyelids  wet, 

Saw  the  face  deadly  thin  where  life  was  yet, 

Heard  his  throat's  harsh  last  moan  before  it  clomb  : 

And  he,  with  close  moutli  passionate  and  dumb. 

Burned  at  her  lips  :  so  lay  they  without  speech. 

Each  grasping  other,  and  the  eyes  of  each 

Fed  in  the  other's  face  :  till  suddenly 

He  cried  out  with  a  little  broken  cry 

This  word,  "  0  heli"»  me,  sweet,  I  am  but  dead  !" 

And  even  so  saying,  the  color  of  fair  red 

AVas  gone  out  of  his  face,  and  his  blood's  beat 

Fell,  and  stark  death  made  sharp  liis  upward  feet 

And  jjointed  hands  ;  and  without  moan  he  died. 

Pain  smote  her  sudden  in  the  brows  and  side. 

Strained  her  lips  open,  and  made  burn  her  eyes  : 

For  the  pure  sharpness  of  her  miseries 

She  had  no  heart's  pain,  but  mere  body's  wrack. 

But  at  the  last  her  beaten  blood  drew  back 

Slowly  upon  her  face,  and  her  stunned  brows 

Suddenly  grown  aware  and  piteous 

Gathered  themselves,  her  eyes  shone,  her  hard  breath 

Came    as  though    one  nigh   dead   came   back   from 

death  ; 
Her   lips  throbbed,  and  life  trembled  through  her 
hair. 
And  in  brief  while  she  thought  to  bury  there 
The  dead  man,  that  her  love  might  lie  with  him 
In  a  sweet  bed  under  the  rose-roots  dim 
And  soft  earth  round  the  branched  apple-trees, 
Full  of  hushed  heat  and  heavy  with  great  ease. 
And  no  ma)i  entering  divide  him  thence. 
Wherefore  she  bade  one  of  her  handmaidens 
To  be  her  heli")  to  do  upon  this  wise. 
And  saying  so  the  teai's  out  of  her  eyes 
Fell  without  noise,  and  comforted  her  heart : 
Yea,  her  great  pain  eased  of  the  sorest  part 
Began  to  soften  in  her  sense  of  it. 
There  under  all  the  little  branches  sweet 
The  place  was  shapen  of  his  burial  : 
T]\ey  shed  thereon  nothing  funereal, 
But  colored  leaves  of  latter  I'osc-blossom, 


124  AHOLIBAH. 

Stems  of  soft  grass,  some  withered  red  and  some 
Fair  and  flesh-blooded  ;  and  spoil  splendider 
Of  marigold  and  great  spent  sunflower. 

And  afterwards  she  came  back  without  word 
To  her  own  house  ;  two  days  went,  and  the  third 
Went,  and  she  showed  her  father  of  this  thing. 
And  for  great  grief  of  her  soul's  travailing 
He  gave  consent  she  should  endure  in  peace 
Till  her  life's  end  ;  yea,  till  her  time  should  cease. 
She  should  abide  in  fellowship  of  pain. 
And  having  lived  a  holy  year  or  twain 
She  died  of  pure  waste  heart  and  weariness. 
And  for  love's  honor  in  her  love's  distress 
This  word  was  written  over  her  tomb's  head  : 
"  Here  dead  she  lieth,  for  whose  sake  Love  is  dead." 


AHOLIBAH. 

In  the  beginning  God  made  thee 
A  woman  well  to  look  npon, 

Thy  tender  body  as  a  tree 

Whereon  cool  wind  hath  always  blown 
Till  the  clean  branches  be  well  grown. 

There  was  none  like  thee  in  the  land  ; 
The  girls  that  were  thy  bondwomen 

Did  bind  thee  with  a  purple  band 
Upon  thy  forehead,  that  all  men 
Should  know  thee  for  God's  handmaiden. 

Strange  raiment  clad  thee  like  a  bride. 
With  silk  to  wear  on  hands  and  feet. 

And  plates  of  gold  on  either  side  : 

Wine  made  thee  glad,  and  thou  didst  eat 
Honey,  and  choice  of  pleasant  meat. 

And  fishers  in  the  middle  sea 

Did  get  thee  sea-fish  and  sea-weeds 

In  color  like  the  robes  on  thee  ; 

And  curious  work  of  plated  reeds. 
And  woods  wherein  live  purple  bleeds. 


AHOLIBAH.  125 

And  ronnd  tlie  edges  of  thy  cnp 

Men  wrought  thee  marvels  out  of  gold, 

Strong  snukes  with  lean  throats  lifted  up, 
Large  eyes  whereon  the  brows  had  hold. 
And  scaly  things  their  slime  kept  cold. 

For  thee  they  blew  soft  winds  in  flutes. 

And  ground  sweet  roots  for  cunning  scent  ; 

Made  slow  because  of  many  lutes. 

The  wind  among  thy  chambers  went 
Wherein  no  light  was  violent. 

God  called  thy  name  Aholibah, 
His  tabernacle  being  in  thee, 

A  witness  through  waste  Asia  ; 

Thou  wert  a  tent  sewn  cunningly 
With  gold  and  colors  of  the  sea. 

Grod  gave  thee  gracious  ministers 

And  all  their  work  who  plait  and  weave  : 

The  cunning  of  embroiderers 

That  sew  the  pillow  to  the  sleeve, 
And  likeness  of  all  things  that  live. 

Thy  garments  upon  thee  were  fair 

With  scarlet  and  with  yellow  thread  ; 

Also  the  weaving  of  thine  hair 

AVas  as  fine  gold  npon  thy  head. 

And  thy  silk  shoes  were  sewn  with  red. 

All  sweet  things  he  bade  sift,  and  ground 
As  a  man  grindeth  wheat  in  mills 

With  strong  wheels  always  going  ronnd  ; 
He  gave  thee  corn,  and  grass  that  fills 
The  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills. 

The  wine  of  many  seasons  fed 

Thy  mouth,  and  made  it  fair  and  clean  ; 

Sweet  oil  was  poured  out  on  thy  head. 
And  ran  down  like  cool  rain  between 
The  strait  close  locks  it  melted  in. 


126  AHOLIBAH. 

The  strong  men  and  tlie  captains  knew 
Thy  chambers  wronght  and  t'asliioned 

Witli  gold  and  covering  of  blue. 

And  the  bine  raiment  of  thine  head 
Who  satest  on  a  stately  bed. 

All  these  had  on  their  garments  wrought 

The  shape  of  beasts  and  creeping  things. 

The  body  that  availeth  not. 

Flat  backs  of  worms  and  veined  wings, 
And  the  lewd  bulk  that  sleeps  and  stings. 

Also  the  chosen  of  the  years, 

The  multitude  being  at  ease, 

With  sackbuts  and  with  dulcimers 

And  noise  of  shawms  and  psalteries, 
Made  mirth  within  the  ears  of  these. 

But  as  a  common  woman  doth, 

Thou  didst  think  evil  and  devise  ; 

The  sweet  smell  of  thy  breast  and  mouth. 
Thou  madest  as  the  harlot's  wise. 
And  there  was  painting  on  thine  eyes. 

Yea,  in  the  woven  guest-chamber 
And  by  the  painted  passages 

Where  the  strange,  gracious  paintings  were, 
State  upon  state  of  companies, 
There  came  on  thee  the  lust  of  these. 

Because  of  shapes  on  either  wall 

Sea-colored  from  some  rare  blue  shell 

At  many  a  Tyrian  interval. 

Horsemen  on  horses,  girdled  well, 
Delicate  and  desirable, — 

Thou  saidest  :  I  am  sick  of  love  : 

Stay  with  me  flagons,  comfort  me 

With  apples,  for  my  pain  thereof. 
Till  my  hands  gather  in  his  tree 
That  fruit  wherein  my  lips  would  be. 


AHOLIBAH.  127 

Yea,  saidest  tlion,  I  will  go  np 

When  there  is  no  more  shade  than  one 

May  cover  with  a  hollow  cup, 

And  make  my  bed  against  the  sun 
Till  my  blood's  violence  be  done. 

Thy  mouth  was  leant  upon  the  wall 

Against  the  painted  mouth,  thy  chin 

Touched  the  hair's  painted  curve  and  fall  ; 
Thy  deep  throat,  fallen  lax  and  thin. 
Worked  as  the  blood's  beat  worked  therein. 

Therefore,  0  thou,  Aholibah, 

God  is  not  glad  because  of  thee  ; 

And  thy  fine  gold  shall  pass  away 

Like  those  fair  coins  of  ore  that  be 
Washed  over  by  the  middle  sea. 

Then  will  one  make  thy  body  bare 
To  strip  it  of  all  gracious  things, 

And  pluck  the  cover  from  thine  hair, 
And  break  the  gift  of  many  kings, 
Thy  wrist-rings  and  thine  ankle-rings. 

Likewise  the  man  whose  body  joins 
To  thy  smooth  body,  as  was  said. 

Who  hath  a  girdle  on  his  loins, 

And  dyed  attire  upon  his  head, — 
The  same  who,  seeing,  worshipped, 

Because  thy  face  was  like  the  face 

Of  a  clean  maiden  that  smells  sweet, 

Because  thy  gait  was  as  the  pace 
Of  one  tliat  opens  not  her  feet. 
And  is  not  heard  within  the  street  : 


Even  he,  0  thou,  Aholibah, 

Made  separate  from  thy  desire. 

Shall  cut  thy  nose  and  ears  away, 

And  bruise  thee  for  thy  body's  hire, 
And  burn  the  residue  with  fire. 


128  MADONNA  MIA. 

Then  shall  the  heathen  people  say. 
The  multitude  being  at  ease  ; 

Lo,  this  is  that  Aholibah 

Whose  name  was  blown  among  strange  seas, 
Grown  old  with  soft  adulteries. 

Also  her  bed  was  made  of  green. 

Her  windows  beautiful  for  glass. 

That  she  had  made  her  bed  between  : 
Yea,  for  pure  lust  her  body  was 
Made  like  white  summer-colored  grass. 

Her  raiment  was  a  strong  man's  spoil ; 
Upon  a  table  by  a  bed 

She  set  mine  incense  and  mine  oil 
To  be  the  beauty  of  her  head. 
In  chambers  walled  about  with  red. 

Also  between  the  walls  she  had 

Fair  faces  of  strong  men  portrayed  ; 

All  girded  round  the  loins,  and  clad 
"With  several  cloths  of  woven  braid 
And  garments  marvellously  made. 

Therefore  the  wrath  of  God  shall  be 

Set  as  a  watch  upon  her  way  ; 
And  whoso  findeth  l)y  the  sea 

Blown  dust  of  bones  wall  hardly  say 

If  this  were  that  iVholibah. 


MADONNA  MIA. 

Under  green  apple-boughs 
That  never  a  storm  will  rouse. 
My  lady  hatli  her  house 

Between  two  bowers  ; 
In  either  of  the  twain, 
Red  roses  full  of  rain  ; 
She  hath  for  bondwomen 

All  kind  of  flowers. 


MADONNA  MIA.  129 

She  hath  no  lumdmaid  fair 
To  draw  her  curled  gold  hair 
Through  rings  of  gold  that  bear 

Her  whole  hair's  weight  ; 
Siie  hatli  no  maids  to  stand 
Gold-clothed  on  either  hand  : 
In  all  the  great  green  land 

None  is  so  great. 

She  hath  no  more  to  wear 
But  one  white  hood  of  vair 
Drawn  over  eyes  and  hair, 

Wrought  with  strange  gold. 
Made  for  some  great  queen's  head. 
Some  fair  great  queen  since  dead  j 
And  one  strait  gown  of  red 

Against  the  cold. 

Beneath  her  eyelids  deep 
Love  lying  seems  asleep. 
Love,  swift  to  wake,  to  weep, 

To  laugh,  to  gaze  ; 
Her  breasts  are  like  white  birds. 
And  all  her  gracious  words 
As  water-grass  to  herds 

In  the  June-days. 

To  her  all  dews  that  fall 
And  rains  are  musical  ; 
Her  flowers  are  fed  from  all. 

Her  joy  from  these  ; 
In  the  deep-feathered  firs 
Their  gift  of  joy  is  hers, 
In  the  least  breath  that  stirs 

Across  the  trees. 

She  grows  with  greenest  leaves. 
Ripens  with  reddest  sheaves. 
Forgets,  remembers,  grieves, 

And  is  not  sad  ; 
The  quiet  lands  and  skies 
Leave  light  ujion  lier  eyes  : 
None  knows  her,  weak  or  wise, 

Or  tired  or  glad. 


130  THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 

None  knows,  none  understands. 
What  flowers  are  like  her  hands  ; 
Though  you  should  search  all  lands 

Wherein  time  grows, 
AVhat  snows  are  like  her  feet. 
Though  his  eyes  burn  with  heat 
Through  gazing  on  my  sweet. 

Yet  no  man  knows. 

Only  this  thing  is  said  : 

That  white  and  gold  and  red, 

God's  three  chief  words,  man's  bread 

And  oil  and  wine. 
Were  given  her  for  dowers. 
And  kingdom  of  all  hours. 
And  grace  of  goodly  flowers 

And  various  vine. 

This  is  my  lady's  praise  : 
God  after  many  days 
Wrought  her  in  unknown  ways, 

In  sunset  lands. 
This  was  my  lady's  birth  : 
God  gave  her  might  and  mirth. 
And  laid  liis  whole  sweet  earth 

Between  her  hands. 

Under  deep  apple-boughs 
My  lady  hath  her  house  ; 
She  wears  upon  her  brows 

The  flower  thereof  ; 
All  saying  but  what  God  saith 
To  her  is  as  vain  breath  ; 
She  is  more  strong  than  death. 

Being  strong  as  love. 


THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 

We  were  ten  maidens  in  the  green  corn, 
Small  red  leaves  in  the  mill-water  : 

Fairer  maidens  never  were  born. 
Apples  of  gold  for  the  king's  daughter. 


THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER.  131 

We  were  ten  maidens  by  a  well-head, 
Small  white  birds  in  the  mill-water  : 

Sweeter  maidens  never  were  wed, 
Rings  of  red  for  the  king's  daughter. 

The  first  to  spin,  the  second  to  sing, 

Seeds  of  wheat  in  the  mill-water ; 
The  third  may  was  a  goodly  thing, 

White  bread  and  brown  for  the  king's  daughter. 

The  fourth  to  sew,  and  the  fifth  to  play. 

Fair  green  weed  in  the  mill-water  ; 
The  sixth  may  Avas  a  goodly  may, 

White  wine  and  red  for  the  king's  daughter. 

The  seventh  to  woo,  the  eighth  to  wed, 

Fair  thin  reeds  in  the  mill-water  ; 
The  ninth  had  gold  work  on  her  head. 

Honey  in  the  comb  for  the  king's  daughter. 

The  ninth  had  gold  work  round  her  hair. 

Fallen  flowers  in  the  mill-water  ; 
The  tenth  may  was  goodly  and  fair,  " 

Golden  gloves  for  the  king's  daughter. 

AVe  were  ten  maidens  in  a  field  green. 

Fallen  fruit  in  the  mill-water  : 
Fairer  maidens  never  have  been. 

Golden  sleeves  for  the  king's  daughter. 

By  there  comes  the  king's  young  son, 

A  little  wind  in  the  mill-water  ; 
"  Out  of  ten  maidens  ye'll  grant  me  one," 

A  crown  of  red  for  the  king's  daughter. 

"  Out  of  ten  mays  ye'll  give  me  the  best," 

A  little  rain  in  the  mill-water  ; 
A  bed  of  yellow  straw  for  all  the  rest, 

A  bed  of  gold  for  the  king's  daughter. 

He's  ta'en  out  the  goodliest, 

Rain  that  rains  in  the  mill-water  ; 
A  comb  of  yellow  shell  for  all  the  rest, 

A  comb  of  gold  for  the  king's  daughter. 


132  MAY  JANET. 

He's  made  her  bed  to  the  goodliest. 

Wind  und  hail  in  the  mill-water  ; 
A  grass  girdle  for  all  the  rest, 

A  girdle  of  arms  for  the  king's  daughter. 

He's  set  his  heart  to  the  goodliest, 
Snow  that  snows  in  the  mill-water  ; 

Nine  little  kisses  for  all  the  rest. 

An  hundredfold  for  the  king's  daughter. 

He's  ta'en  his  leave  at  the  goodliest. 

Broken  boats  in  the  mill-water  ; 
Golden  gifts  for  all  the  rest, 

Sorrow  of  heart  for  the  king's  daughter. 

''  Ye'll  make  a  grave  for  my  fair  body," 

Kunning  rain  in  the  mill-water  ; 
"  And  ye'll  streek  my  brother  at  the  side  of  me," 

The  pains  of  hell  for  the  king's  daughter. 


MAY  JANET. 
(beeton.) 

'^  Stand  up,  stand  up,  thou  May  Janet, 
And  go  to  the  wars  with  me." 

He's  drawn  her  by  both  hands. 
With  her  face  against  the  sea. 

"  He  that  strews  red  shall  gather  white, 

He  that  sows  white  reap  red. 
Before  your  face  and  my  daughter's 

Meet  in  a  marriage-bed. 

"  Gold  coin  shall  grow  in  the  yellow  field. 
Green  corn  in  the  gi-eeu  sea-water. 

And  red  fruit  grow  of  the  rose's  red. 
Ere  your  fruit  grow  in  her." 

"  But  I  shall  have  her  by  land,"  he  said, 

'•'  Or  I  shall  have  her  by  sea. 
Or  I  shall  have  her  by  strong  treason 

And  no  grace  go  with  me." 


THE  BLOODY  SON.  133 

Her  father's  drawn  her  by  both  hands, 

He's  rent  her  gown  from  bor. 
He's  ta'en  the  smock  round  her  body. 

Cast  in  the  sea-water. 

The  captain's  drawn  her  by  both  sides 

Out  of  the  fair  green  sea  : 
"Stand  up,  stand  up,  thou  May  Janet, 

And  come  to  the  war  with  me." 

The  first  town  they  came  to. 

There  was  a  blue  bride-chamber  ; 
He  clothed  her  on  with  silk, 

And  belted  her  with  amber. 

The  second  town  they  came  to. 

The  bridesmen  feasted  knee  to  knee  ; 

He  clothed  her  on  with  silver, 
A  stately  thing  to  see. 

The  third  town  they  came  to. 

The  bridesmaids  all  had  gowns  of  gold  ; 
He  clothed  her  on  with  purple, 

A  rich  thing  to  behold. 

The  last  town  they  came  to. 

He  clothed  her  white  and  red. 
With  a  green  flag  either  side  of  her 

And  a  gold  flag  overhead. 


THE  BLOODY  SON. 

(FINNISH.) 

''  0  WHERE  have  ye  been  the  morn  sae  late, 
My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 

0  where  have  ye  been  the  morn  sae  late  ? 
And  J  wot  I  hae  but  anither." 

"■  By  the  water-gate,  by  the  water-gate, 
0  dear  mither," 


134  THE  BLOODY  SON. 

"  And  whatten  kiu'  o'  wark  had  yo  there  to  make. 
My  merry  soil,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 

And.  whatten  kin'  o'  wark  had  ye  there  to  make  ? 
And  I  wot  I  hae  but  anither."' 

"  I  watered  my  steeds  with  water  frae  the  lake, 
0  dear  mither." 

"  Why  is  yonr  coat  sae  fouled  the  day, 
My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 

Why  is  your  coat  sae  fouled  the  day  ? 
And  I  Avot  I  hae  but  anither." 

"  The    steeds   were   stamping   sair  by  the  weary 
banks  of  clay, 
0  dear  mither," 

''  And  where  gat  ye  thae  sleeves  of  red, 
My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 

And  where  gat  ye  thae  sleeves  of  red  ? 
And  I  wot  I  hae  but  anither." 

"  I  have  slain  my  ae  brither  by  the  weary  water- 
head, 
0  dear  mither." 

"  And  where  will  ye  gang  to  mak  your  mend, 
My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 

And  where  will  ye  gang  to  mak  your  mend.  ? 
And  I  wot  I  hae  not  anither." 

"The  warldis  way,  to  the  warldis  end, 
0  dear  mither." 

And  what  will  ye  leave  your  father  dear. 
My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 

And  what  will  ye  leave  your  father  dear  ? 
And  I  wot  I  hae  not  anither." 

"  The  wood  to  fell  and  the  logs  to  bear. 

For  he'll  never  see  my  body  mair, 
0  dear  mither." 

"  And  what  will  ye  leave  your  mither  dear. 
My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 

And  what  will  ye  leave  your  mither  dear  ? 
And  I  wot  I  hae  not  anither." 

"  The  wool  to  card  and  the  wool  to  wear, 

For  ye'll  never  see  my  body  mair, 
0  dear  mither." 


THE  BLOODY  SON.  135 

"  And  wliat  will  ye  leave  for  your  wife  to  take, 

My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 
And  what  will  ye  leave  for  your  wife  to  take  ? 

And  I  wot  I  hae  not  anitlier." 
"A  goodly  gown  and  a  fair  new  make. 
For  she'll  do  nae  mair  for  my  body's  sake, 

0  dear  mither." 

*' And  what  will  ye  leave  your  young  son  fair. 

My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 
And  what  will  ye  leave  your  young  son  fair  ? 

And  I  wot  ye  hae  not  anither. " 
"  A  twiggen  school-rod  for  his  body  to  bear, 
Though  it  garred  him  greet  he'll  get  nae  mair, 

0  dear  mither." 

*' And  what  will  ye  leave  your  little  daughter  sweet, 

My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 
And  what  will  ye  leave  your  little  daughter  sweet  ? 

And  I  wot  ye  hae  not  anither." 
"  Wild  mnlberries  for  her  mouth  to  eat. 
She'll  get  nae  mair  though  it  garred  her  greet, 

0  dear  mither.'' 

"  And  when  will  ye  come  back  frao  roamin'. 

My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hitlier  ? 
And  when  will  ye  come  back  frae  roamin'  ? 

And  I  wot  I  hae  not  anither." 
"  When  the  sunrise  out  of  the  north  is  comen, 

0  dear  mither." 

"When  shall  the  sunrise  on  the  north  side  be. 

My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 
When  shall  the  sunrise  on  the  north  side  be  ? 

And  I  wot  I  hae  not  anither." 
"When  chuckie-stanes  shall  swim  in  the  sea, 

0  dear  mither." 

"  When  shall  stanes  in  tlie  sea  swim. 

My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 
When  shall  stanes  in  the  sea  swim  ? 

And  I  wot  I  hae  not  anither." 
"  Wlien  birdies'  featliers  are  as  lead  therein, 

0  dear  mither," 


136  THE  SEA-SWALLOWS. 

"When  shall  feathers  be  as  lead, 

My  merry  son,  come  tell  me  hither  ? 
When  shall  feathei-s  be  as  lead  ? 

And  I  Avot  1  hae  not  anither." 
''When  God  shall  judge  between  the  quick  and  dead, 

0  dear  mither." 


THE  SEA-SWALLOWS. 

This  fell  when  Christmas  lights  were  done, 
Ked  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ; 

But  before  the  Easter  lights  begun; 

The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  the  Tyne. 

Two  lovers  sat  where  the  rowan  blows, 
And  all  the  grass  is  heavy  and  fine. 

By  the  gathering  place  of  the  sea-swallows 
When  the  wind  brings  them  over  Tyne. 

Blossom  of  broom  will  never  make  bread. 
Red  rose  leaves  Avill  never  make  wine  ; 

Between  her  brows  she  is  grown  red. 

That  was  full  white  in  the  fields  by  Tyne. 

"  0  what  is  this  thing  ye  have  on, 

Show  me  now.  sweet  daughter  of  mine  ?  " 

"  0  father,  this  is  my  little  son 

That  I  found  hid  in  the  sides  of  Tyne. 

"  0  what  will  you  give  my  son  to  eat. 
Red  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ?  " 

''  Fen-water  and  adder's  meat, 

The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  the  Tyne." 

"  Or  what  will  yet  get  my  son  to  wear, 
Red  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ?" 

*'  A  weed  and  a  web  of  nettle's  hair. 

The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  the  Tyne." 

*'  Or  what  will  ye  take  to  line  his  bed. 
Red  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ?  " 

"  Two  black  stones  at  the  kirk-wall's  head. 
The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  tlie  Tyne,"' 


THE  SEA-SWALLOWS.  137 

"  Or  what  will  ye  give  my  son  for  land. 
Red  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ?" 

*'  Three  girl's  paces  of  red  sand, 
The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  the  Tyne." 

"Or  what  will  ye  give  me  for  my  son, 
Red  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ?  " 

''Six  times  to  kiss  his  young  mouth  on, 
The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  the  Tyne. 

"  But  what  have  ye  done  with    the  bearing-bread. 
And  what  have  ye  made  of  the  washing-wine  ? 

Or  where  have  ye  made  your  bearing-bed. 
To  bear  a  son  in  the  sides  of  Tyne  ?  " 

"  The  bearing-bread  is  soft  and  new, 
There  is  no  soil  in  the  straining  wine  ; 

The  bed  was  made  between  green  and  blue. 
It  stands  full  soft  by  the  sides  of  Tyne. 

"  The  fair  grass  was  my  bearing-bread, 

The  well-water  my  washing-wine  ; 
The  low  leaves  were  my  bearing-bed, 

And  that  was  best  in  the  sides  of  Tyne." 

"  0  daughter,  if  ye  have  done  this  thing, 

I  wot  the  greater  grief  is  mine  ; 
This  was  a  bitter  child-bearing, 

"When  ye  were  got  by  the  sides  of  Tyne. 

"  About  the  time  of  the  sea-swallows 

That  fly  full  thick  by  six  and  nine, 
Ye'll  have  my  body  out  of  the  house. 

To  bury  me  by  the  sides  of  Tyne. 

"  Set  nine  stones  by  the  wall  for  twain. 
Red  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ; 

For  the  bed  I  take  will  measure  ten, 

The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  the  Tyne. 

"  Tread  twelve  girl's  paces  out  for  three. 
Red  rose  leaves  will  never  make  wine  ; 

For  the  pit  I  made  has  taken  me. 

The  ways  are  sair  fra'  the  Till  to  the  Tyne.'' 


138  THE  YEAR  OF  LOVE. 


THE  YEAR  OF  LOVE. 

Theke  wei'e  four  loves  that  one  by  one. 
Following  the  seasons  and  the  sun. 
Passed  over  without  tears,  and  fell 
Away  without  farewell. 

The  first  was  made  of  gold  and  tears, 
The  next  of  aspen-leaves  and  fears. 
The  third  of  rose-boughs  and  rose-roots, 
The  last  love  of  strange  fruits. 

These  were  the  four  loves  faded.     Hold 
Sonae  minutes  fast  the  time  of  gold 
When  our  lips  each  way  clung  and  clove 
To  a  face  full  of  love. 

The  tears  inside  our  eyelids  met, 
Wrung  forth  with  kissing,  and  wept  wet 
The  faces  cleaving  each  to  each 
Where  the  blood  served  for  speech. 

The  second,  with  low  patient  brows 
Bound  under  aspen-colored  boughs 
And  eyes  made  strong  and  grave  with  sleep 
And  yet  too  weak  to  weep  ; 

The  third,  with  eager  mouth  at  ease 
Fed  from  late  autumn  honey,  lees 
Of  scarce  gold  left  in  latter  cells 
With  scattered  flower-smells, — 

Hair  sprinkled  over  with  spoilt  sweet 
Of  ruined  roses,  wrists  ancl  feet 
Slight-swathed,  as  grassy  girdled  sheaves 
Hold  in  stray  poppy-leaves  ; 

The  fourth,  with  lips  whereon  has  bled 
Some  great  pale  fruit's  slow  color,  shed 
From  tlie  rank  bitter  husk  whence  drips 
Faint  blood  between  her  lips, — 


THE  LAST  ORACLE.  139 

Made  of  the  lient  of  whole  great  Junes 
Burning  the  bhie  dark  round  their  moons 
(Eacli  like  a  mown  red  marigold). 
So  hard  the  flame  keeps  hold, — 

These  are  burnt  thoroughly  away. 
Only  the  first  holds  out  a  day 
Beyond  these  latter  loves  that  were 
Made  of  mere  heat  and  air. 

And  now  the  time  is  winterly 
The  first  love  fades  too  :  none  will  see, 
When  April  warms  the  world  anew. 
The  place  wherein  love  grew. 


THE  LAST  ORACLE. 
(A.  D.  36L) 

Yeaes  have  risen  and  fallen  in  darkness  or  in  twi- 
light, 
Ages  waxed  and  waned  that  knew   not  thee  nor 
thine, 
White  the  world  sought  light  by  iiight  and  sought 
not  thy  light. 
Since    the    sad   last   j^i^grini    left    thy   dark   mid 
shrine. 
Dark  the  shrine,  and  dumb  the  fount  of  song  thence 
welling. 
Save  for  words  more  sad  than  tears  of  blood,  that 
said  : 
Tell  the  Tcing,  on  earth  has  fallen  tlie  glorious  dioell- 
ing, 
And  the  water-sjyrings    that  spake   are   quenched 
and  dead. 
Not  a  cell  is  left  the  god,  no  roof,  no  cover  ; 

In  his  hand  the  propliet  laurel  flowers  no  more. 
And  the  great  king's  high  sad  heart,  tliy  true  last 
lover, 
Felt  thine  answer  pierce  and  cleave  it  to  the  core. 
Ana  he  bowed  down  his  hopeless  head 
In  the  drift  of  the  wild  world's  tide. 
And  dying,  Tltou  hast  conquered,  he  said, 
Galilcean  :  he  said  it,  and  died. 


140  THE  LAST  ORACLE. 

Atid  the  world  that  was  thine  and  was  ours 
When  the  Graces  took  hands  witli  the  Hours 
Grew  cold  as  a  winter  wave 
In  the  wind  from  a  wide-mouthed  grave, 
As  a  gnlf  wide  open  to  swallow 
The  light  that  the  world  held  dear. 
0  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 

Age  on  age  thy  mouth  was  mute,  thy  face  was  hid- 
den. 
And    the    lips  and    eyes    that   loved   thee    blind 
and  dumb  ; 
Song  forsook    their    tongues    that    held    thy  name 
forbidden. 
Light  their  eyes  that  saw  the  strange  god's  king- 
dom come. 
Fire  for  light  and  hell   for  heaven  and  psalms  for 
pagans 
Filled  the  clearest  eyes    and  lips  most   sweet  of 
song. 
When  for  chant  of  Greeks  the  wail  of  Galilffiaus 
Made  the  whole  world  moan  with  hymns  of  wrath 
and  wrong. 
Yea,  not  yet  we  see  thee,  father,  as  they  saw  thee, 
They  that  worshipped  when  the  world  was  theirs 
and  thine. 
They  whose  words  had  power  by  thine  own  power 
to  draw  thee 
Down  from  heaven  till  earth  seemed  more  than 

heaven  divine. 
For  the  shades  are  about  us  that  hover 

When  darkness  is  half  withdrawn. 
And  the  skirts  of  the  dead  night  cover 

The  face  of  the  live  new  dawn. 
For  the  past  is   not  utterly  past. 
Though  the  word  on  its  lips  be  the  last. 
And  the  time  be  gone  by  with  its  creed 
When  men  were  as  beasts  that  bled. 
As  sheep  or  as  swine  that  wallow. 
In  the  shambles  of  faith  and  of  fear. 
0  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 


THE  LAST  ORACLE.  141 

Yet  it  may  be,  lord  and  father,  could  we  know  it. 
We    that  love  thee  for  our  darkness    shall    have 
light 
More  than  ever  prophet  hailed  of  old,  or  poet 
Standing  crowned  and  robed  and  sovereign  in  thy 
sight. 
To  the  likeness  of  one  God  their  dreams  enthralled 
thee, 
Who   was  greater  than  all   gods  that  waned  and 
grew  ; 
Son  of  God  the    shining  son  of   Time  they  called 
thee. 
Who  was  older,  0  our  father,  than  they  knew. 
For  no  thought  of  man  made  gods  to  love  or  honor 

Ere  the  song  within  the  silent  soul  began  ; 
Nor  might  earth  in  dream  or  deed  take  heaven  upon 
her 
Till  the   word   was    clothed  with    speech  by  liiDS 

of  man. 
And  the  word  and  the  life  was  thou, 
The  spirit  of  man  and  the  breath  ; 
And  before  thee  the  gods  that  bow 

Take  life  at  thine  hands  and  death. 
For  these  are  as  ghosts  that  wane, 
That  are  gone  in  an  age  or  twain  ; 
Harsh,  merciful,  passionate,  pure. 
They  perish,  but  thou  shalt  endure  ; 
Be  their  life  as  the  swan's  or  the  swallow. 

They  pass  as  the  flight  of  a  year. 
0  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 

Thou  the  word,  the  light,  the  life,  the  breath,  the 
glory. 
Strong  to  help  and  heal,  to  lighten  and  to  slay, 
Thine   is  all  the  song   of  man,  the  world's  whole 
story  ; 
Not  of  morning  and  of  evening  is  thy  day. 
Old  and  younger  gods  are  buried  or  begotten 
From  uprising  to  downsetting  of  thy  sun, 
Risen    from  eastward,  fallen    to   westward  and  for- 
gotten. 
And  their  springs  are  many,  but  their  end  is  one. 


142  THE  LAST  ORACLE. 

Divers  birtlis  of  godheads  find  one  death  appointed, 
As  the  soul  whence  each  was  born  makes  room  for 
each  ; 
Clod  by  god  goes  out,  discrowned  and  disanointed, 
But  the  soul  stands  fast  that  gave  them  shape  and 

speech. 
Is  the  sun  yet  cast  out  of  heaven  ? 
Is  the  song  yet  cast  out  of  man  ? 
Life  that  had  song  for  its  leaven 
To  quicken  the  blood  that  ran 
Through  the  veins  of  the  songless  years 
More  bitter  and  cold  than  tears  ; 
Heaven  that  had  thee  for  its  one 
Light,  life,  word,  witness,  0  sun, — 
Are  they  soundless  and  sightless  and  hollow. 
Without  eye,  without  speech,  without  ear  ? 
0  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 


Time  arose,  and  smote  thee  silent  at  his  warning  ; 
Change  and  darkness  fell  on  men   that  fell  from 
thee  ; 
Dark    thou    satest,    veiled   with    light,   behind    the 
morning, 
Till  the  soul  of  man  should  lift  up  eyes  and  see. 
Till  the  blind  mute  soul  get  speech  again  and  eye- 
sight, 
Man  may  worship  not  the  light  of  life  within  ; 
In  his  sight  the   stars   whose  fires  grow  dark  in  thy 
sight 
Shine  as  sunbeams  on  the  night  of  death  and  sin. 
Time  again  is  risen  Avith  mightier  word  of  warning, 
Change  hath  blown  again  a  blast  of  louder  breath  ; 
Clothed  with  clouds  and  stars  and  dreams  that  melt 
in  morning, 
Lo,  the  gods  that  ruled  by  grace  of  sin  and  death  ! 
They  are  conquered,  they  break,  they  are  stricken. 
Whose  might  made  the  whole  world  pale  ; 
They  are  dust  that  shall  rise  not  or  quicken 

Though  the  world  for  their  death's  sake  wail. 
As  a  hound  on  a  wild  beast's  trace. 
So  time  has  their  godhead  in  chase  j 


THE  LAST  ORACLE.  143 

As  wolves  when  the  hunt  makes  head, 
They  are  scattered,  they  fly,  they  are  fled  ; 
They  are  fled  beyond  hail,  beyond  hollo, 

And  the  cry  of  the  chase,  and  tlie  cheer. 
0  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 

Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 

Day  by  day  thy  shadow  shines  in  heaven  beholden, 

Even  the  sun,  tlie  shining  shadow  of  thy  face  : 
King,  the    ways   of    heaven    before   thy   feet   grow 
golden  ; 
God,  the  soul  of  earth  is  kindled  with  thy  grace. 
In    thy  lips  the  speech   of  man  whence  gods    were 
fashioned. 
In  thy  soul  the  thought  that  makes  them  and  un- 
makes ; 
By  thy  light  and  heat  incarnate  and  impassioned. 
Soul    to   soul   of   man  gives   light  for  light,  and 
takes. 
As  they  knew  thy  name  of  old  time  could  we  know  it. 
Healer  called  of  sickness,  slayer  invoked  of  wrong, 
Light  of  eyes  that  saw  thy  light,  god,  king,  priest, 
})oet. 
Song  should  bring  thee  back  to  heal  us  with  thy 

song. 
For  thy  kingdom  is  past  not  away, 

Nor  thy  power  from  the  place  thereof  hurled  : 
Out  of  heaven  they  shall  cast  not  the  day, 

They  shall  cast  not  out  song  from  the  world. 
By  the  song  and  the  light  they  give. 
We  know  thy  works  that  they  live  ; 
With  the  gift  thou  hast  given  us  of  speech 
We  praise,  we  adore,  we  beseech. 
We  arise  at  thy  bidding,  and  follow. 
We  cry  to  tliee,  answer,  appear, 
0  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 


144  IN  THE  BAY. 


IN  THE  BAY. 
I, 

Beyond  the  hollow  sunset,  ere  a  star 

Take   heart    in    heaven   from    eastward,    while   the 

west, 
Fulfilled  of  watery  resonance  and  rest, 
Is  as  a  port  with  clouds  for  harbor-bar 
To  fold  the  fleet  in  of  the  winds  from  far 
That  stir  no  j^lume  now  of  the  bland  sea's  breast ; 

II. 

Above  the  soft  sweep  of  the  breathless  bay- 
South-westward,  far  past  flight  of  night  and  day, 
Lower  than  the  sunken  sunset  sinks,  and  higher 
Than  dawn  can  freak  the  front  of  heaven  with  flre, — 
My  thought  with  eyes  and  wings  made  wide  makes  way 
To  find  the  place  of  souls  that  I  desire. 

III. 

If  any  place  for  any  soul  there  be, 
Disrobed  and  disentrammelled  ;  if  the  might, 
The  fire  and  force  that  filled  with  ardent  light 
The  souls  whose  shadow  if  half  the  light  we  see. 
Survive,  and  be  suppressed  not  of  the  night,-^ 
This  hour  should  show  what  all  day  hid  from  me. 

IV. 

Night  knows  not,  neither  is  it  shown  to  day. 
By  sunlight  nor  by  starlight  is  it  shown. 
Nor  to  the  full  moon's  eye  nor  footfall  known. 
Their  world's  untrodden  and  nnkindled  way  ; 
Nor  is  the  breath  nor  music  of  it  blown 
With  sounds  of  winter  or  with  winds  of  May. 


But  here,  where  light  and  darkness  reconciled 
Hold  earth  between  them  as  a  weaning  child 
Between  the  balanced  hands  of  death  and  birth. 
Even  as  they  held  the  new-born  shape  of  earth 


IN  THE  BAY.  145 

When  first  life  trembled  in  lier  limbs  and  smiled, — 
Here  hope  might  think  to  find  what  hope  were  worth. 

VI. 

Past  Hades,  past  Elysium,  past  the  long. 

Slow,  smooth,  strong  lapse  of  Lethe  ;  past  the  toil 

Wherein  all  souls  are  taken  as  a  spoil. 

The  Stygian  web  of  waters, — if  your  song 

Be  quenched  not,  0  our  brethren,  but  be  strong 

As  ere  ye  too  shook  off  our  temporal  coil  ; 

VII. 

If  yet  these  twain  survive  your  w^orldly  breath, 
Joy  trampling  sorrow,  life  devouring  death. 
If  perfect  life  possess  your  life  all  through. 
And  like  your  words  your  souls  be  deathless  too. 
To-night,  of  all  whom  night  encompasseth, 
My  soul  would  commune  with  one  soul  of  you. 

VIII. 

Above  the  sunset,  might  I  see  thine  eyes 
That  were  above  the  sun-dawn  in  our  skies, 
Son  of  the  songs  of  morning, — thine  that  were 
First  lights  to  lighten  that  rekindling  air 
Wherethrough  men  saw  the  front  of  England  rise, 
And  heard  thine  loudest  of  the  lyre-notes  there, — 

IX. 

If  yet  thy  fire  have  not  one  spark  the  less, 
0  Titan,  born  of  her  a  Titaness, 
Across  the  sunrise  and  the  sunset's  mark 
Send  of  thy  lyre  one  sound,  thy  fire  one  spark. 
To  change  this  face  of  our  unworthiness, 
Across  this  hour  dividing  light  from  dark  ; 


To  change  this  face  of  our  chill  time,  that  hears 
No  song  like  thine  of  all  that  crowd  its  ears. 
Of  all  its  lights  that  lighten  all  day  long 
Sees  none  like  thy  most  fleet  and  fiery  sphere's 
Out-lightening  Sirius, — in  its  twilight  throng, 
No  thunder  and  no  sunrise  like  thy  song. 

lO 


146  IN  THE  BAY. 

XI. 

Hath  not  the  sea-Avind  swept  the  sea-line  bare 
To  pave  with  stainless  lire,  through  stainless  air, 
A  passage  for  thine  heavenlier  feet  to  tread 
Ungrieved  of  earthly  floor-work  ?  hath  it  spread 
No  covering  splendid  as  the  sun-god's  hair 
To  veil  or  to  reveal  thy  lordlier  head  ? 

XII. 

Hath  not  the  sunset  strewn  across  the  sea 

A  way  inajestieal  enough  for  thee  ? 

What  hour  save  this  should  be  thine  hour — and  mine, 

If  thou  have  care  of  any  less  divine 

Than  thine  own  soul  ;  if  thou  take  thought  of  me, 

Marlowe,  as  all  my  soul  takes  thought  of  thine  ? 

XIII. 

Before  the  moon's  face  as  before  the  sun, 
The  morning  star  and  evening  star  are  one 
For  all  men's  lands  as  England.     Oh,  if  night 
Hang  hard  upon  us, — ere  our  day  take  flight. 
Shed  thou  some  comfort  from  thy  day  long  done 
On  us  pale  children  of  the  latter  light ! 

XIV. 

For  surely,  brother  and  master,  and  lord  and  king. 
Where'er  thy  footfall  and  thy  face  make  spring 
In  all  souls'  eyes  that  meet  thee  wheresoe'er. 
And  have  thy  soul  for  sunshine  and  sweet  air, — 
Some  late  love  of  thine  old  live  land  should  cling, 
Some  living  love  of  England,  round  thee  there. 

XV. 

Here  from  her  shore,  across  her  sunniest  sea. 

My  soul  makes  question  of  the  sun  for  thee, 

And  waves  and  beams  make  answer.     When  thy  feet 

]\I;ide  her  ways  flowerier  and  tlieir  flowers  more  sweet 

With  childlike  passage  of  a  god  to  be, 

Like  spray  these  waves  cast  off  her  foemen's  fleet. 


IN  THE  BAY.  147 

XVI. 

Like  foam  they  flung  it  from  her,  and  like  weed 
Its  wrecks  were  waslied  from  scornful  shoal  to  shoal. 
From  rock  to  rock  reverberate  ;  and  the  whole 
Sea  laughed  and  lightened  with  a  deathless  deed 
That  sowed  our  enemies  in  her  field  for  seed. 
And  made  her  shores  fit  harborage  for  thy  soul. 

XVII. 

Then  in  her  green  south  fields,  a  poor  man's  child, 
Thou  hadst  thy  short  sweet  fill  of  half-blown  joy, 
That  ripens  all  of  us  for  time  to  cloy 
With  full-blown  pain  and  passion,  ere  the  wild 
World  caught  thee  by  the  fiery  heart,  and  smiled 
To  make  so  swift  end  of  the  godlike  boy. 

XVIII. 

For  thou,  if  ever  godlike  foot  there  trod 

These  fields  of  ours,  wert  surely  like  a  god. 

Who   knows  what  splendor  of  strange  dreams  was 

shed 
AVith  sacred  shadow  and  glimmer  of  gold  and  red 
From  hallowed  windows,  over  stone  and  sod, 
On  thine  unbowed    bright,  insubmissive  head  ? 

XIX, 

The  shadow  stayed  not,  but  the  splendor  stays. 
Our  brother,  till  the  last  of  English  days. 
No  day  nor  night  on  English  earth  shall  be 
Forever,  spring  nor  summer,  Junes  nor  Mays, 
But  somewhat   as  a  sound  or  gleam  of  thee 
Shall  come  on  us  like  morning  from  the  sea. 

XX. 

Like  sunrise  never  wholly  risen,  nor  yet 
Quenched  ;  or  like  sunset  never  wholly  set, 
A  light  to  lighten  as  from  living  eyes 
The  cold,  unlit,  close  lids  of  one  that  lies 
Dead,  or  a  ray  returned  from  death's  far  skies 
To  fire  us  living  lest  our  lives  forget. 


148  IN  THE  BAY. 

XXI. 

For  in  that  heaven  what  light  of  lights  may  be, 
What  splendor  of  what  stars,  what  spheres  of  flame 
Sounding,  that  none  may  number  nor  may  name, 
We  know  not,  even  thy  brethren  ;  yea,  not  we 
Whose  eyes  desire  the  light  that  lightened  thee, 
Whose  ways  and  thine  are  one  way  and  the  same. 

XXII. 

But  if  the  riddles  that  in  sleep  we  read, 
And  trust  them  not,  be  flattering  truth  indeed, 
•As  he  that  rose  our  mightiest  called  them, — he, 
Much  higher  than  thou  as  thou   much   higher  than 

we, — 
There,  might  we  say,  all  flower  of  all  our  seed. 
All  singing  souls  are  as  one  sounding  sea. 

XXIII. 

All  those  that  here  were  of  thy  kind  and  kin 
Beside  thee  and  below  thee,  full  of  love, 
Fiill-souled  for  song, — and  one  alone  above 
Whose  only  light  folds  all  your  glories  in — 
With  all  birds'  notes  from  nightingale  to  dove 
Fill  the  world  whither  we  too  fain  would  win  ; 

XXIV. 

The  world  that  sees  in  heaven  the  sovereign  light 
Of  sunlike  Shakespeare,  and  the  fiery  night 
Whose  stars  were  watched  of  Webster  ;  and  beneath. 
The  twin-souled  brethren  of  the  single  wreath. 
Grown   in  king's    gardens,   plucked    from    pastoral 

heath, 
Wrought  with  all  flowers  for  all  men's  heart's  de- 
light. 

XXV. 

And  that  fixed  fervor,  iron-red  like  Mars, 

In  the  mid  moving  tide  of  tenderer  stars. 

That  burned  on  loves  and  deeds  the  darkest  done. 

Athwart  the  incestuous  prisoner's  bride-house  bars  ; 

And  thine,  most  highest  of  all  their  fires  but  one, 

Our  morning  star^  sole  risen  before  the  sun. 


IN  THE  BAY.  149 

XXVI. 

And  one  light  risen  since  theirs  to  rnn  such  race 
Thou  liast  seen,  0  Piiosphor,  from  thy  pride  of  place. 
Thou  hast  seen  Shelley,  him  that  was  to  thee 
As  light  to  fire  or  dawn  to  lightning  ;  me, — 
Me  likewise,  0  our  brother,  shalt  thou  see, 
And  I  behold  thee,  face  to  glorious  face  ? 

XXVII. 

You  twain  the  same  swift  year  of  manhood  swept 
Down  the  steep  darkness,  and  our  father  wejit. 
And  from  the  gleam  of  Apollonian  tears 
A  holier  aureole  rouiuls  your  memories,  kept 
Most  fervent-fresh  of  all  the  singing  spheres. 
And  April-colored  through  all  months  and  years. 

XXVIII. 

You  twain,  fate  spared  not  half  your  fiery  span  ; 

The  longer  date  fulfils  the  lesser  man. 

Ye  from  beyond  the  dark  dividing  date 

Stand  smiling,  crowned  as   gods,  with  foot  on  fate. 

For  stronger  was  your  blessing  than  his  ban. 

And  earliest  whom  he  struck,  he  struck  too  late. 

XXIX. 

Yet  love  and  loathing,  faith  and  unfaith  yet 
Bind  less  to  greater  souls  in  unison, 
And  one  desire  that  makes  three  sjiirits  as  one 
Takes  great  and  small  as  in  one  spiritual  net 
Woven  out  of  hojie  toward  what  shall  yet  be  done 
Ere  hate  or  love  remember  or  foraret ; 


XXX. 

Woven  out  of  faith  and  hope  and  love  too  great 
To  bear  the  bonds  of  life  and  death  and  fate  ; 
Woven  out  of  love  and  hope  and  faith  too  dear 
To  take  the  print  of  doubt  and  change  and  fear  ; 
And  interwoven  with  lines  of  wrath  and  hate 
Blood-red  with  soils  of  many  a  sauguiue  year. 


150  IN  THE  BAY. 

XXXI. 

Who  cannot  hate,  can  love  not :  if  he  grieve, 
His  tears  are  barren  as  tlie  unfruitfiil  rain 
That  rears  no  harvest  from  the  green  sea's  plain, 
And  as  thorns  crackling  this  man's  laugh  is  vain. 
Nor  can  belief  touch,  kindle,    smite,  reprieve 
His  heart  who  has  not  heart  to  disbelieve. 


XXXII. 

But  yon,  most  perfect  in  your  hate  and  love. 
Our  great  twin-spirited  brethren  ;  you  that  stand 
Head  by  head  glittering,  hand  made  fast  in  hand. 
And  underfoot  the  fang-drawn  worm  that  strove 
To  wound  you  living  ;  from  so  far  above, 
Look  love,  not  scorn,  on  ours  that  was  your  land. 

XXXIII. 

For  love  we  lack,  and  help  and  heat  and  light 
To  clothe  us  and  to  comfort  us  with  might. 
"What  help  is  ours  to  take  or  give?  but  ye — 
Oh,  more  than  sunrise  to  the  blind  cold  sea. 
That  wailed  aloud  with  all  her  waves  all  night. 
Much  more,  being  much  more   glorious,  should  you 
be. 

XXXIV. 

As  fire  to  frost,  as  ease  to  toil,  as  dew 

To  flowerless  fields,  as  sleep  to  slackening  pain, 

As  hope  to  souls  long  weaned  from  hope  again 

Eeturning,  or  as  blood  revived  anew 

To  dry-drawn  limbs  and  every  pulseless  vein, — 

Even  so  toward  us  should  no  man  be  but  you. 

XXXV. 

One  rose  before  the  sunrise  was,  and  one 

Before  the  sunset,  lovelier  than  the  sun. 

And  now  the  heaven  is  dark  and  bright  and  loud 

With  wind  and  starry  drift  aud  moon  and  cloud. 

And  night's  cry  rings  in  straining  sheet  and  shroud  : 

What  help  is  ours  if  hope  like  yours  be  none  ? 


IN  THE  BAY.  151 

XXXVI. 

0  well-beloved,  our  brethren,  if  ye  be. 
Then  are  we  not  forsaken.     This  kind  earth 
Made  fragrant  once  for  all  time  with  your  birth, 
And  bright  for  all  men  with  your  love,  and  worth 
The  clasp  and  kiss  and  wedlock  of  the  sea, 
Were  not  your  mother  if  not  your  brethren  we. 

XXXVII. 

Because  the  days  were  dark  with  gods  and  kings, 
And  in  time's  hand  the  old  hours  of  time  as  rods, 
When  force  and  fear  set  hope  aiul  faith  at  odds, 
Ye  failed  not,  nor  abased  your  pUune-plucked  wings  ; 
And  we  that  front  not  more  disastrous  things, 
How  should  we  fail  in  face  of  kings  and  gods  ? 

XXXVIII. 

For  now  the  deep  dense  plumes  of  night  are  thinned 
Surely  with  winnowing  of  tlie  glimmering  wind 
AVhose  feet    are    fledged     with    morning ;    and    the 

breath 
Begins  in  heaven  that  sing?  the  dark  to  death. 
And  all  the  night  wherein  men  groaned  and  sinned 
Sickens  at  heart  to  hear  what  sundawn  saith. 

XXXIX. 

0  first-born  sons  of  hope  and  fairest  !  ye 
Whose  prows    first  clove  the  thought-unsounded  sea 
Whence  all  the  dark  dead  centuries  rose  to  bar 
The  spirit  of  man  lest  truth  should  make  him  free. 
The  sunrise  and  the  sunset,  seeing  one  star, 
Take  heart  as  we  to  know  you  that  ye  are. 

XL. 

Ye  rise  not,  and  ye  set  not :  we  that  say 
Y'^e  rise  and  set  like  hopes  that  set  and  rise 
Look  yet  but  seaward  from  a  land-locked  bay  ; 
But  whereat  last  the  sea's  line  is  thesky's. 
And  truth  and  hope  one  sunlight  in  your  eyes, 
Xo  sunrise  and  no  sunset  marks  their  dav. 


152  A  FORSAKEN  GARDEN. 


A  FORSAKEN  GARDEN. 

In  a  coign  of  the  cliff  between  lowland  and  highland. 
At  the    sea-down's  edge  between  windward  and 
lee. 
Walled  round  with  rocks  as  an  inland  island. 

The  ghost  of  a  garden  fronts  the  sea. 
A  girdle  of  brushwood  and  thorn  encloses 

The  steep  square  slope  of  the  blossoniless  bed 
Where  the  weeds  tliat  grew  green  from  the  graves  of 
its  roses 
Now  lie  dead. 

The  fields  fall  southward,  abrupt  and  broken. 
To  tlie  low  last  edge  of  the  long  lone  land. 

If  a  step  should  sound  or  a  word  be  spoken, 

Would  a  ghost  not  rise  at  the  strange  guest's  hand  ? 

So  long  have  the  gray  bare  walks  lain  guestless. 
Through  branches  and  briers  if  a  man  make  way. 

He  shall  find  no  life  but  the  sea-wind's,  restless 
Night  and  day. 

The  dense  hard  passage  is  blind  and  stifled 
That  crawls  by  a  track  none  turn  to  climb 

To  the  strait  waste  place  that  the  years  have  rifled 
Of  all  but  the  thorns  that  are  touched  not  of  time. 

The  thorns  he  spares  when  the  rose  is  taken  ; 
The  rocks  are  left  when  he  wastes  the  plain  ; 

The  wind  that  wanders,  the  weeds  wind-shaken, 
These  remain. 

Not  a  flower  to  be  prest  of  the  foot  that  falls  not  ; 

As  the  heart  of  a  dead  man  the  seed-plots  are  dry  ; 
From  the  thicket  of  thorns  whence  the  nightingale 
calls  not, 
Could  she  call,  there  were  never  a  rose  to  reply. 
Over  the  meadows  that  blossom  and  wither. 

Rings  but  the  note  of  a  sea-bird's  song. 
Only  the  sun  and  the  rain  come  hither 
All  year  long. 

The  sun  burns  sear,  and  the  rain  dishevels 
One  gaunt  bleak  blossom  of  scentless  breath. 


A  FORSAKEN  GARDEN.  153 

Only  the  wind  here  hovers  and  revels 

In  a  round  where  life  seems  barren  as  death. 

Here  there  was  laughing  of  old,  tliere  was  weeping, 
Haply,  of  lovers  none  ever  will  know. 

Whose  eyes  went  seaward  a  hundred  sleeping 
Years  ago. 

Heart  handfast  in  heart  as  they  stood,   '•'  Look  thith- 

Did  he  whisper  ?     "  Look  forth  from  the  flowers 
to  the  sea  ; 
For  the  foam-flowers  endure  when  the  rose-hlossoms 
wither, 
And  men  that  love  lightly  may  die — But  we  ?  " 
And    the    same    wind    sang,  and    the    same   waves 
whitened, 
And  or  ever  the  garden's  last  petals  were  shed, 
In  the  lips  that  had   whispered,  the  eyes  that  had 
lightened. 
Love  was  dead. 

Or    they  loved  their   life  through,   and  then  went 
whither  ? 
And   were  one    to  the    end — but   what  end  who 
knows  ? 
(Love  deep  as  the  sea  as  a  rose  must  wither,  ; 

As  the  rose-red  seaweed  tliat  mocks  the  rose. 
Shall  the  dead  take  thought   for  the  dead  to  love 
them  ? 
What  love  was  ever  as  deep  as  a  grave  ?') 
They  are  loveless  now  as  tlie  grass  above  them 
Or  the  wave. 

All  are  at  one  now,  roses  and  lovers, 

Not  known  of  the  cliffs  and  the  fields  and  the  sea. 
Not  a  breath  of  the  time  that  has  been  hovers 

In  the  air  now  soft  with  a  summer  to  be. 
Not  a  breath  shall  there  sweeten  the  seasons  here- 
after 
Of  the  flowers  or    the  lovers  tliat   laugh  now  or 
weep, 
When   as   they  that  are  free  now  of    weeping  and 
laughter 
We  shall  sleep. 


154  RELICS. 

Here  death  may  deal  not  again  forever  : 

Here  cliange  may  come  not  till  all  change  end. 
From  the  graves  they  have  made  they  shall  rise  up 
never, 
Who  have  left  naught  living  to  ravage  and  rend. 
Earth,  stones,  and    thorns  of  the  wild  ground  grow- 
ing. 
While  the  sun  and  the  rain  live,  these  shall  be  ; 
Till  a  last  wind's  breath,  upon  all  these  blowing, 
Eoll  the  sea. 

Till  the  slow  sea  rise,  and  the  sheer  cliff  crumble. 

Till  terrace  and  meadow  the  deep  gulfs  drink, 
Till  the  strength  of  the  waves  of  the  high  tides  hum- 
ble 
The  fields  that  lessen,  the  rocks  that  shrink, 
Here  now  in  his  triumph  where  all  things  falter, 
Stretched  out  on  the    spoils  that  his   own    hand 
spread, 
As  a  god  self-slain  on  his  own  strange  altar. 
Death  lies  dead. 

KELICS. 

This  flower  that  smells  of  honey  and  the  sea,  , 
AVhite  laurustine,  seems  in  my  hand  to  be 
A  white  star  made  of  memory  long  ago 
Lit  in  the  heaven  of  dear  times  dead  to  me. 

A  star  out  of  the  skies,  love  used  to  know 
Here  held  in  hand,  a  stray  left  yet  to  show 

What  flowers  my  heart  was  full  of  in  the  days 
That  are  long  since  gone  down  dead  memory's  flow. 

Dead  memory  that  revives  on  doubtful  ways, 
Half  hearkening  what  the  buried  season  says. 

Out  of  the  world  of  the  unapparent  dead 
Where  the  lost  Aprils  are,  and  the  lost  Mays. 

Flower,  once  I  knew  thy  star-white  brethren  bred 
Nigh  where  the  last  of  all  the  land  made  head 

Against  the  sea,  a  keen-faced  promontory, — 
Flowers  on  salt  wind  and  sprinkled  sea  dews  fed. 


RELICS.  155 

Tlieir  liearts  were  glad  of  the  free  place's  glory  ; 
The  wind  tliat  sang  them  all  his  stormy  story 
Had  talked  all  winter  to  the  sleepless  spray, 
And  as  the  sea's  their  hues  were  hard  and  hoary. 

Like  things  born  of  the  sea  and  the  bright  day, 
They  laughed  out  at  the  years  that  could  not  slay. 

Live  sons  and  joyous  of  unquiet  hours. 
And  stronger  than  all  storms  that  range  for  prey. 

And  in  the  close  indomitable  flowers 
A  keen-edged  odor  of  the  sun  and  showers 
AVas  as  the  smell  of  the  fresh  honeycomb 
Made  sweet  for  mouths  of  none  but  paramours. 

Out  of  the  hard  green  wall  of  leaves  that  clomb, 
They  showed  like  windfalls  of  the  snow-soft  foam, 

Or  feathers  from  the  weary  south-wind's  wing, 
Fair  as  the  spray  that  it  came  shoreward  from. 

And  thou,  as  white,  what  word  hast  thou  to  bring  ? 
If  my  heart  hearken,  whereof  wilt  thou  sing  ? 
For  some  sign  surely  thou,  too,  hast  to  bear. 
Some  word  far  south  was  taught  thee  of  the  spring. 

White  like  a  white  rose,  not  like  these  that  were 
Taught  of  the  wind's  mouth  and  the  winter  air. 

Poor  tender  thing  of  soft  Italian  bloom. 
Where  once  thou  grewest,  what  else  for  me  grew 
there  ? 

Born  in  what  spring  and  on  what  city's  tomb, 

By  whose  hand  wast  thou  reached,  and  plucked  for 

whom  ? 
There  hangs  about  thee,   could  the  soul's  sense 

tell. 
An  odor  as  of  love  and  of  love's  doom. 

Of  days  more  sweet  than  thou  was  sweet  to  smell, 
Of  flower-soft  thoughts  that  came  to  flower  and  fell. 

Of  loves  that  liveil  a  lily's  life  and  died. 
Of  dreams  now  dwelling  where  dead  roses  dwell. 


156  SESTIMA. 

0  white  birth  of  the  golden  monntain-side 
That  for  the  suir's  love  makes  its  bosom  wide 

At  sunrise,  and  with  all  its  woods  and  flowers 
Takes  in  the  morning  to  its  heart  of  pride  ! 

Thou  hast  a  word  of  that  one  land  of  ours, 
And  of  the  fair  town  called  of  the  fair  towers, 

A  word  for  me  of  my  San  Gimignan, 
A  word  of  April's  greenest-girdled  hours ; 

Of  the  breached  walls  whereon  the  wallflowers  ran 
Called  of  Saint  Fina,  breachless  now  of  man. 
Though  time  with  soft  feet  break  them  stone  by 
stone, 
Who  breaks  down  hour  by  hour  his  own  reign's  span  ; 

Of  the  cliff  overcome  and  overgrown 

That  all  that  flowerage  clothed  as  flesh  clothes  bone. 

That  garment  of  acacias  made  for  May, 
"Whereof  here  lies  one  witness  overblown. 

The  fair  brave  trees  with  all  their  flowers  at  play. 
How  king-like  they  stood  up  into  the  day  ! 

How  sweet  the  day  was  with  them,  and  the  night ! 
Such  words  of  message  have  dead  flowers  to  say. 

This  that  the  winter  and  the  wind  made  bright, 
And  this  that  lived  upon  Italian  light, 

Before  I  throw  them  and  these  words  away, 
Who  knows  but  I  what  memories  too  take  flight  ? 


SESTIMA. 

I  saw  my  soul  at  rest  upon  a  day 

As  a  bird  sleeping  in  the  nest  of  night, 

Among  soft  leaves  that  give  the  starlight  way 
To  touch  its  wings  but  not  its  eyes  with  light ; 

So  that  it  knew  as  one  in  visions  may. 

And  knew  not  as  men  waking,  of  delight. 

Tliis  was  the  measure  of  my  soul's  delight  ; 
It  had  no  power  of  joy  to  fly  by  day, 


A  WASTED  VIGIL.  15? 

Nor  part  in  the  large  lordship  of  the  light ; 

But  in  a  secret,  moon-beholden  way 
Had  all  its  will  of  dreams  and  pleasant  night. 

And  all  the  love  and  light  that  sleepers  may. 

But  such  life's  triumph  as  men  waking  may 
It  might  not  have  to  feed  its  faint  delight 

Between  the  stars  by  night  and  sun  by  day, 
Shut  up  with  green  leaves  and  a  little  light ; 

Because  its  way  was  as  a  lost  star's  way, 

A  world's  not  wholly  known  of  day  or  night. 

All  loves  and  dreams  and  sounds  and  gleams  of  night 
Made  it  all  music  that  such  minstrels  may, 

And  all  they  had  they  gave  it  of  delight ; 
But  in  the  full  face  of  the  fire  of  day 

What  place  shall  be  for  any  starry  light. 

What  part  of  heaven  in  all  the  wide  sun's  way  ? 

Yet  the  soul  woke  not,  sleeping  by  the  way, 
Watched  as  a  nursling  of  the  large-eyed  "night, 

And  sought  no  strength  nor  knowledge  of  the  day, 
Nor  closer  touch  conclusive  of  delight. 

Nor  mightier  joy  nor  truer  than  dreamers  may. 
Nor  more  of  song  than  they,  nor  more  of  light. 

For  who  sleeps  once,  and  sees  the  secret  light 
Whereby  sleep  shows  the  soul  a  fairer  way 

Between  the  rise  and  rest  of  day  and  night. 
Shall  care  no  more  to  fare  as  all  men  may, 

But  he  his  place  of  pain  or  of  delight. 

There  shall  he  dwell,  beholding  night  as  day. 

Song,  have  thy  day,  and  take  thy  fill  of  light 
Before  the  night  be  fallen  across  thy  way  ; 
Sing  while  he  may,  man  hath  no  long  delight. 

A  WASTED  VIGIL. 

I. 

CouLDST  thon  not  watch  with  me  one  hour  ?    Be- 
hold, 
Dawn  skims  the  sea  with  flying  feet  of  gold, 
AVith  sudden  feet  that  graze  the  gradual  sea  : 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


158  A  WASTED  VIGIL. 


11. 


What,  not  one  liour  ?     For  star  by  star  the  niijht 
Falls,  and  her  thousands  world  by  world  take  flight ; 
They  die,  and  day  survives,  and  what  of  thee  ? 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


III. 


Lo,  far  in  heaven  the  web  of  night  undone. 
And  on  the  sudden  sea  the  gradual  sun  ; 
Wave  to  wave  answers,  tree  responds  to  tree  : 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


IV, 


Sunbeam  by  sunbeam  creeps  from  line  to  line, 
Foam  by  foam  quickens  on  the  brightening  brine  ; 
Sail  by  sail  passes,  flower  by  flower  gets  free  : 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


Last  year,  a  brief  while  since,  an  age  ago, 
A  whole  year  past,  with  bud  and  bloom  and  snow, 
0  moon  that  wast  in  heaven,  what  friends  were  we  ! 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


VI. 

Old  moons,  and  last  year's  flowers,  and  last  year's 

snows, 
Who  now  saith  to  thee,  moon  ?  or  who  saith,  rose  ? 
0  dust  and  ashes,  once  found  fair  to  see  ! 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


VII. 

0  dust  and  ashes,  once  thought  sweet  to  smell ! 
With  me  it  is  not,  is  it  with  thee,  well  ? 
0  sea-drift  blown  from  windward  back  to  lee  ! 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


A  WASTED  VIGIL.  15^ 


VIII. 


The  old  year's  dead   hands  are   full  of  tlieir  dead 

flowers, 
The  old  days  are  full  of  dead  old  loves  of  ours, 
Boru  as  a  rose,  and  briefer  born  than  she  : 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


IX. 


Could  two  days  live  again  of  that  dead  year, 
One  would  say,  seeking  us  and  passing  here. 
Where  is  sJie  f  and  one  answering,   Where  is  he? 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


X. 


Nay,  those  two  lovers  are  not  anywhere  ; 
If  we  were  they,  none  knows  us  what  we  were, 
Nor  aught  of  all  their  barren  grief  and  glee  : 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


XI. 


Half  false,  half  fair,  all  feeble,  be  my  verse 
Upon  thee  not  for  blessing  nor  for  curse. 
For  some  must  stand,  and  some  must  fall  or  flee 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


XII. 


As  a  new  moon  above  spent  stars  thou  wast ; 
But  stars  endure  after  the  moon  is  past, 
Couldst  thou   not  watch  one  hour,  though  I  watch 
three  ? 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


XIII. 


What  of  the  night  ?     The  night  is  full,  the  tide 
Storms  inland,  the  most  ancient  rocks  divide  ; 
Yet  some  endure,  and  bow  lu^r  head  nor  knee  : 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


160  THE  COMPLAINT  OF  LISA. 


XIV. 


Since  thou  art  not  as  these  are,  go  thy  wa3^s  ; 
Thou  hast  no  part  in  all  my  niglits  and  days. 
Lie  still,  sleep  on,  be  glad — as  such  things  be; 
Thou  couldst  not  watch  with  me. 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  LISA. 

(Double  Sestina). 

Decameron,  x.  7. 

There  is  no  woman  living  that  draws  breath 
So  sad  as  I,  though  all  things  sadden  her. 
There  is  not  one  upon  life's  weariest  way 
Who  is  weary  as  I  am  weary  of  all  but  death. 
Toward  whom  I  look  as  looks  the  sunflower 
All  day  with  all  his  whole  soul  toward  the  sun  ; 
While  in  the  sun's  sight  I  make  moan  all  day, 
And  all  night  on  my  sleepless  maiden  bed 

Weep  and  call  out  on  death,  0  Love,  aiul  thee, 
That  thou  or  he  would  take  me  to  the  dead. 
And  kiiow  not  what  thing  evil  I  have  done 
That  life  should  lay  such  heavy  hand  on  me. 
Alas  !  Love,  what  is  this  thou  wouldst  with  me  ? 
What  honor  shalt  thou  have  to  quench  my  breath. 
Or  what  shall  my  heart  broken  profit  thee  ? 

0  Love,  0  great  god  Love,  what  have  I  done, 
That  thou  shouldst  hunger  so  after  my  death  ? 
My  heart  is  harmless  as  my  life's  first  day  : 
Seek  out  some  false  fair  woman,  and  plague  her 
Till  her  tears  even  as  my  tears  fill  her  bed  : 

1  am  the  least  flower  in  thy  flowery  way. 
But  till  my  time  be  come  that  I  be  dead, 
Let  me  live  out  my  flower-time  in  the  sun, 
Though  my  leaves  shut  before  the  sunflower. 

0  Love,  Love,  Love,  the  kingly  sunflower  ! 
Shall  he  the  sun  hath  looked  on  look  on  me, 
That  live  down  hei-e  in  shade,  out  of  tlie  sun. 
Here  living  in  the  sorrow  and  shadow  of  death  ? 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  LISA.  161 

Shall  he  that  feeds  his  heart  full  of  the  day 
Care  to  give  mine  eyes  light,  or  my  lips  breath  ? 
Because  she  loves  him,  shall  my  lord  love  her 
Who  is  as  a  worm  in  my  lord's  kingly  way  ? 
I  shall  not  see  him  or  know  him  alive  or  dead  ; 
But  thou,  I  know  thee,  O  Love,  and  pray  to  thee 
That  in  brief  while  my  brief  life-days  be  done, 
And  the  worm  quickly  make  my  marriage-bed. 

For  underground  there  is  no  sleepless  bed. 
But  here  since  I  beheld  my  sunflower 
These  eyes  have  slept  not,  seeing  all  night  and  day 
His  sunlike  eyes,  and  face  fronting  the  sun. 
Wherefore,  if  anywhere  be  any  death, 
I  would  fain  find  and  fold  him  fast  to  me, 
That  I  may  sleep  with  tbe  world's  eldest  dead, 
With  her  that  died  seven  centuries  since,  and  her 
Tliat  went  last  night  down  the  night-wandering  way. 
For  this  is  sleep  indeed,  when  labor  is  done, 
Without  love,  without  dreams,  and  without  breath. 
And  without  thought,  0  name  unnamed  !  of  thee. 

Ah  !  but,  forgetting  all  things,  shall  I  thee  ? 

Wilt  thou  not  be  as  now  about  my  bed 

There  underground  as  here  before  the  sun  ? 

Shall  not  thy  vision  vex  me  alive  and  dead. 

Thy  moving  vision  without  form  or  breath  ? 

I  read  long  since  the  bitter  tale  of  her 

Who  read  the  tale  of  Launcelot  on  a  day. 

And  died,  and  had  no  quiet  after  death. 

But  was  moved  ever  along  a  weary  way, 

Lost  with  her  love  in  the  underworld  ;  ah  me, 

0  my  king,  0  niy  lordly  sunflower, 

Would  God  to  me,  too,  such  a  thing  were  done  ! 

But  if  such  sweet  and  bitter  things  be  done. 
Then,  flying  from  life,  I  shall  not  fly  from  thee. 
For  in  that  living  world  without  a  sun 
Thy  vision  Avill  lay  hold  upon  me  dead. 
And  meet  and  nujck  me,  and  mar  my  peace  in  dejith. 
Yet  if  being  wroth,  (lod  had  such  pity  on  her, 
Who  was  a  sinner  and  foolish  in  her  day, 
n 


162  THE  COMPLAINT  OF  LISA. 

That  even  in  hell  they  twain  should  breathe  one 

breath, 
Why  should  he  not  in  some  wise  pity  me  ? 
So  if  I  sleep  not  in  my  soft  strait  bed, 
I  may  look  up  and  see  my  sunflower 
As  he  the  sun,  in  some  divine  strange  way. 

0  poor  my  heart,  well  knowest  thou  in  what  way 
This  sore  sweet  evil  unto  us  was  done. 

For  on  a  holy  and  a  heavy  day 

1  was  arisen  out  of  my  still  small  bed 

To  see  the  knights  tilt,  and  one  said  to  me 

"  The  king  ; "  and  seeing  him,  somewhat  stopped 

my  breath  ; 
And  if  the  girl  spake  more,  I  heard  not  her. 
For  only  I  saw  what  I  shall  see  when  dead, 
A  kingly  flower  of  knights,  a  sunflower, 
That  shone  against  the  sunlight  like  the  sun, 
And  like  a  fire,  0  heart,  consuming  thee, 
The  fire  of  love  that  lights  the  pyre  of  death. 

llowbeit  I  shall  not  die  an  evil  death 
Who  have  loved  in  such  a  sad  and  sinless  way, 
That  this  my  love,  lord,  was  no  shame  to  thee. 
So  when  mine  eyes  are  shut  against  the  sun, 
0  my  soul's  sun,  0  the  -^orld's  sunflower. 
Thou  nor  no  man  will  quite  despise  me  dead. 
And  dyiug  I  pray  with  all  my  low  last  breath 
That  tliy  whole  life  may  be  as  was  that  day. 
That  feast-day  that  made  trothplight  death  and  me. 
Giving  the  world  light  of  thy  great  deeds  done  ; 
And  that  fair  face  brightening  thy  bridal  bed. 
That  God  be  good  as  God  hath  been  to  her. 

That  all  things  goodly  and  glad  remain  with  her. 
All  things  tiiat  make  glad  life  and  goodly  death  ; 
That  as  a  bee  sucks  from  a  sunflower 
Honey,  when  summer  draws  delighted  breath, 
Her  soul  may  drink  of  thy  soul  in  like  way. 
And  love  make  life  a  fruitful  marriage-bed 
Where  day  may  bring  forth  fruits  of  joy  to  day 
And  night  to  night  till  days  and  nights  be  dead. 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  LISA.  163 

And  as  she  gives  liglit  of  her  love  to  thee. 
Give  thou  to  her  tlie  old  glory  of  duys  long  done  ; 
And  either  give  some  heat  of  light  to  me. 
To  warm  me  where  I  sleep  without  the  sun. 

0  sunflower  made  drunken  with  the  sun, 

0  knight  whose  lady's  heart  draws  thine  to  her, 

Great  king,  glad  lover,  I  have  a  word  to  thee. 

There  is  a  weed  lives  out  of  the  sun's  way. 

Hid  from  the  heat  deep  in  the  meadow's  bed. 

That  swoons  and  whitens  at  the  wind's  least  breath, 

A  flower  star-shaped,  that  all  a  summer  day 

Will  gaze  her  soul  out  on  the  sunflower 

For  very  love  till  twilight  finds  her  dead. 

But  the  great  sunflower  heeds  not  her  poor  death, 

Knows  not  when  all  her  loving  life  is  done  ; 

And  so  much  knows  my  lord  the  king  of  me. 

Ay,  all  day  long  he  has  no  eye  for  me  ; 

With  golden  eye  following  the  golden  sun 

From  rose-colored  to  purple-pillowed  bed. 

From  birthplace  to  the  flame-lit  place  of  death. 

From  eastern  end  to  western  of  his  way. 

So  mine  eye  follows  thee,  my  sunflower. 

So  the  white  star-flower  turns  and  yearns  to  thee. 

The  sick  weak  weed,  not  well  alive  or  dead, 

Trod  under  foot  if  any  pass  by  her. 

Pale,  without  color  of  summer  or  summer  breath 

In  the  shrunk  shuddering  petals,  that  have  done 

No  work  but  love,  and  die  before  the  day. 

But  thou,  to-day,  to-morrow,  and  every  day, 
Be  glad  and  great,  0  love  whose  love  slays  me. 
Thy  fervent  flower  made  fruitful  from  the  sun 
Shall  drop  its  golden  seed  in  the  world's  way. 
That  all  men  thereof  nourished  shall  praise  thee 
For  grain  and  flower  and  fruit  of  works  well  done  ; 
Till  thy  shed  seed,  0  shining  sunflower. 
Bring  forth  such  growth  of  the  world's  garden-bed 
As  like  the  sun  shall  outlive  age  and  death. 
And  yet  I  would  thine  heart  had  heed  of  her 
Who  loves  thee  alive  ;  but  not  till  she  be  dead. 
Come,   Love,  then,  quickly,  and  take  her  utmost 
breath. 


164    FOR  THE  FEAST  OF  GIORDANO  BRUNO. 

Song,  speak  for  nie  who  am  dumb  as  are  the  dead  ; 

From  my  sad  bed  of  tears  I  send  forth  thee, 

To  fly  all  day  from  sun's  birth  to  sun's  death 

Down  the  sun's  way  after  the  flying  sun. 

For  love  of  her  that  gave  thee  wings  and  breath 

Ere  day  be  done,  to  seek  the  sunflower. 

FOR  THE  FEAST  OF  GIORDANO  BRUXO, 

PHILOSOPHEK  AND  MAKTYR. 


Son  of  the  lightning  and  the  light  that  glows 
Beyond  the  lightning's  or  the  morning's  light. 
Soul  splendid  with  all-righteous  love  of  right, 
In  whose  keen  fire  all  hopes  and  fears  and  woes 
Were  clean  consumed,  and  from  their  ashes  rose 
Transfigured,  and  intolerable  to  sight 
Save  of  purged  eyes  whose  lids  had  cast  off  night. 
In  love's  and  wisdom's  likeness  when  they  close, 
Embracing,  and  between  them  truth  stands  fast, 
Embraced  of  either  ;  thou  whose  feet  were  set 
On  English  earth  while  this  was  England  yet. 
Our  friend  that  art,  our  Sidney's  friend  that  wast, 
Heart  hardier  found  and  higher  than  all  men's  past. 
Shall  we  not  praise  thee  though  thine  own  forget  ? 

II. 

Lift  up  thy  light  on  us  and  on  thine  own, 
0  soul  whose  spirit  on  earth  was  as  a  rod 
To  scourge  off  priests,  a  sword  to  pierce  their  God, 

A  staff  for  man's  free  thought  to  walk  alone, 

A  lamp  to  lead  him  far  from  shrine  and  throne 
On  ways  untrodden  where  his  fathers  trod 
Ere  earth's  heart  withered  at  a  high  priest's  nod. 

And  all  men's  mouths  that  made  not  prayer  made 
moan. 

From  bonds  and  torments  and  the  ravening  flame. 
Surely  thy  spirit  of  sense  rose  up  to  greet 
Lucretius,  where  such  only  spirits  meet, 

And  walk  with  him  apart  till  Shelley  came 

To  make  the  heaven  of  heavens  more  heavenly 
sweet, 

And  mix  with  yours  a  third  incorporate  name. 


AVE  ATQUE  VALE.  165 

AVE  ATQUE  VALE. 

IN  MEMORY  OF  CHARLES  BAUDELAIRE. 

Nous  devjons  pourtant  lui  porter  quelques  fleurs  ; 
Les  morts,  les  pauvres  morts,  ont  de  grandes  douleurs, 
Et  quand  Octobre  souffle,  eraondeur  des  vieux  arbres, 
Son  vent  melancliolique  a  I'entour  de  leuvs  marbres, 
Carte,  ils  doivent  trouver  les  vivants  bien  ingrats. 

Les  Fleurs  du  Mai. 

I, 

Shall  I  strew  on  thee  rose  or  rue  or  laurel, 

Brother,  on  this  that  was  the  veil  of  thee  ? 

Or  quiet  sea-flower  moulded  by  the  sea, 
Or  simplest  growth  of  meadow-sweet  or  sorrel. 

Such  as  the  summer-sleepy  dryads  weave. 

Waked  up  by  snow-soft  sudden  rains  at  eve  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  rather  as  on  earth  before. 

Half-faded  fiery  blossoms,  pale  with  heat 

And  full  of  bitter  summer,  but  more  sweet 
To  thee  than  gleanings  of  a  northern  shore 

Trod  by  no  tropic  feet  ? 

II. 
For  always  thee  the  fervid  languid  glories 

Allured  of  heavier  suns  in  mightier  skies  ; 

Thine  ears  knew  all  tlie  wandering  watery  sighs 
Where  the  sea  sobs  round  Lesbian  promontories, 

The  barren  kiss  of  piteous  wave  to  wave 

That  knows  not  where  is  that  Leucadian  grave 
Which  hides  too  deep  the  supreme  head  of  song. 

Ah  !  salt  and  sterile  as  her  kisses  were. 

The  wild  sea  winds  her  and  the  green  gulfs  bear 
Hither  and  thither,  and  vex  and  work  her  wrong, 

Blind  gods  that  cannot  spare. 

III. 
Thou  sawest,  in  thine  old  singing  season,  brother, 

Secrets  and  sorrows  unbeheld  of  us  : 

Fierce  loves,  and  lovely  leaf-buds  [)oirfonous, 
Bare  to  thy  suljtlcr  eye,  "but  for  none  other 

Blowing  by  night  in  some  unbreatlied-in  clime  ; 

The  hidden  harvest  of  luxurious  time, 


166  AVE  ATQUE  VALE. 

Sin  without  shape,  and  pleasure  without  speech  ; 
And  where  strange  dreams  in  a  tumultuous  sleep 
Make  the  shut  eyes  of  stricken  spirits  weep  ; 

And  with  each  face  thou  sawest  the  shadow  on  each. 
Seeing  as  men  sow  men  reap. 

IV. 

0  sleepless  heart  and  sombre  soul  unsleeping, 
That  were  athirst  for  sleep  and  no  more  life 
And  no  more  love,  for  peace  and  no  more  strife  ! 

Now  the  dim  gods  of  death  have  in  their  keeping 

Spirit  and  body  and  all  the  springs  of  song, 
Is  it  well  now  where  love  can  do  no  wrong. 

Where  stingless  pleasure  has  no  foam  or  fang 
Behind  the  unopening  closure  of  her  lips  ? 
Is  it  not  well  where  soul  from  body  slips. 

And  flesh  from  bone  divides  without  a  pang 
As  dew  from  flower-bell  drips  ? 

v. 

It  is  enough  :  the  end  and  the  beginning 
Are  one  thing  to  thee,  who  art  past  the  end. 
0  hand  unclasped  of  unbeholden  friend  ! 

For  thee  no  fruits  to  pluck,  no  palms  for  winning, 
No  triumph  and  no  labor  and  no  lust. 
Only  dead  yew-leaves  and  a  little  dust. 

0  quiet  eyes  wherein  the  light  saith  naught. 
Whereto  the  day  is  dumb,  nor  any  night 
With  obscure  finger  silences  your  sight. 

Not  in  your  speech  the  sudden  soul  speaks  thought, 
Sleep,  and  have  sleep  for  light. 

VI. 

Now  all  strange  hours  and  all  strange  loves  are  over, 
Dreams  and  desires  and  sombre  songs  and  sweet, 
Hast  thou  found  place  at  the  great  knees  and  feet 

Of  some  pale  Titan-woman  like  a  lover. 
Such  as  thy  vision  here  solicited, 
Under  the  shadow  of  her  fair  vast  head. 

The  deep  division  of  prodigious  breasts, 
The  solemn  slope  of  mighty  limbs  asleep. 
The  weight  of  awful  tresses  that  still  keep 

The  savor  and  shade  of  old-world  pine-forests 
Where  the  wet  hill- winds  weep  ? 


AVE  ATQUE  VALE.  167 

VII. 

Hast  thou  found  any  likeness  for  thy  vision  ? 

0  gardener  of  strange    flowers,    what  bud,    what 
bloom. 

Hast   thou    found   sown,    what   gathered    in    the 
gloom  ? 
What  of  despair,  of  rapture,  of  derision. 

What  of  life  is  there,  what  of  ill  or  good  ? 

Are  the  fruits  gray  like  dust,  or  bright  like  blood  ? 
Does  the  dim  ground  grow  any  seed  of  ours, 

The  faint  fields  quicken  any  terrene  root. 

In  low  lands  where  tlie  sun  and  moon  are  mute. 
And  all  the  stars  keep  silence  ?     Are  there  flowers 

At  all,  or  any  fruit  ? 

VIII. 

Alas  !  but  though  my  flying  song  flies  after, 
0  sweet  strange  elder  singer,  thy  more  fleet 
Singing,  and  footprints  of  thy  fleeter  feet. 

Some  dim  derision  of  mysterious  laughter 

From  the  blind  tongueless  warders  of  the  dead. 
Some  gainless  glimpse  of  Proserpine's  veiled  head, 

Some  little  sound  of  unregarded  tears 
Wept  by  effaced  unprofitable  eyes, 
And   from    pale   mouths   some    cadence    of   dead 
sighs,— 

These,  only  these,  the  hearkening  spirit  hears, 
Sees  only  such  things  rise. 

IX. 

Thou  art  far  too  far  for  wings  of  words  to  follow, 
Far  too  far  off  for  thought  or  any  prayer. 
What  ails  us  with  thee,  who  art  wind  and  air  ? 

What  ails  us  gazing  where  all  seen  is  hollow  ? 
Yet  with  some  fancy,  yet  with  some  desire. 
Dreams  pursue  death  as  winds  a  flying  fire. 

Our  dreams  pursue  our  dead,  and  do  not  find. 

Still,  and  more  swift  tlian  they,  the  thin  flame  flies. 
The  low  light  fails  us  in  elusive  skies. 

Still  the  foiled  earnest  ear  is  deaf,  and  blind 
Are  still  the  eluded  eyes. 


168  AVE  ATQUE  VALE. 


Not  thee,  oh  !  never  thee,  in  all  time's  changes. 
Not  thee,  but  this  the  sound  of  thy  sad  soul, 
The  shadow  of  thy  swift  spirit,  this  shut  scroll 

I  lay  my  hand  on,  and  not  death  estranges 
My  spirit  from  communion  of  thy  song  ; 
These  memories  and  these  melodies  that  throng 

Veiled  porclies  of  a  Muse  funereal, — 

These  I  salute,  these  touch,  these  clasp  and  fold 
As  though  a  hand  were  in  my  hand  to  hold, 

Or  through  mine  ears  a  mourning  musical 
Of  many  mourners  rolled. 


XI. 

I  among  these,  I  also,  in  such  station 

As  when  the  pyre  was  charred,  and  piled  the  sods, 
And  offering  to  the  dead  made,  and  their  gods. 

The  old  mourners  had,  standing  to  make  libation, 
I  stand,  and  to  the  gods  and  to  the  dead 
Do  reverence  without  prayer  or  praise,  and  shed 

Offering  to  these  unknown,  the  gods  of  gloom, 
And  what  of  honey  and  spice  my  seed-lands  bear, 
And  what  I  may  of  fruits  in  this  chilled  air. 

And  lay,  Orestes-like,  across  the  tomb 
A  curl  of  severed  hair. 


XII. 

But  by  no  hand  nor  any  treason  stricken, 

Not  like  the  low-lying  head  of  Him,  the  king. 

The  flame  that  made  of  Troy  a  ruinous  thing. 
Thou  liest,  and  on  this  dust  no  tears  could  quicken 

There  fall  no  tears  like  theirs  that  all  men  hear 

Fall  tear  by  sweet  imperishable  tear 
Down  the  opening  leaves  of  holy  poets'  pages. 

Thee  not  Orestes,  not  Electra,  mourns  ; 

But  bending  us-ward  with  memorial  urns 
The  most  high  Muses  that  fulfil  all  ages 

Weep,  and  our  God's  heart  jearns, 


AVE  ATQUE  VALE.  169 


XIII. 

For,  sparing  of  his  sjicred  strength,  not  often 

Among  us  darkling  here  the  lord  of  liglit    . 

Makes  manifest  his  music  and  his  might 
In  hearts  that  open  and  in  lips  that  soften 

With  tlie  soft  flame  and  lieat  of  songs  tliat  shine. 

Thy  lips  indeed  he  touched  with  bitter  wine, 
And  nourished  them  indeed  with  bitter  bread  ; 

Yet  surely  from  his  hand  thy  soul's  food  came. 

The  fire  that  scarred  thy  spirit  at  his  flame 
Was  lighted,  and  thine  hungering  heart  he  fed 

Who  feeds  our  hearts  with  fame. 


XIV. 

Therefore  he  too  now  at  thy  soul's  sunsetting, 
God  of  all  suns  and  songs,  he  too  bends  down 
To  mix  his  laurel  with  thy  cypress  crown. 

And  save  thy  dust  from  blame  and  from  forgetting. 

Therefore  he  too,  seeing  all  thou  wert  and  art, 
Compassionate,  with  sad  and  sacred  heart, 

Mourns  thee  of  many  his  children  the  last  dead. 
And  hallows  with  strange  tears  and  alien  sighs 
Thine  unmelodious  mouth  and  sunless  eyes, 

And  over  thine  irrevocable  head 
Sheds  light  from  the  under  skies. 


XV. 

And  one  weeps  with  him  in  the  ways  Lethean, 
And  stains  with  tears  her  changing  bosom  chill ; 
That  obscure  Venus  of  tlie  hollow  hill, 

That  thing  transformed  which  was  the  Cytherean, 
With  lips  that  lost  their  Grecian  laugh  divine 
Long  since,  and  face  no  more  called  Erycine 

A  ghost,  a  bitter  and  luxurious  god. 

Thee  also  wath  fair  flesh  and  singing  spell 
Did  she,  a  sad  and  second  prey,  compel 

Into  the  footless  places  once  more  trod. 
And  shadows  hot  from  hell. 


170  AVE  ATQUE  VALE. 


XVI. 

And  now  no  sacred  staff  shall  break  in  blossom. 
No  choral  salutation  lure  to  light 
A  spirit  sick  with  perfume  and  sweet  night 

And  love's  tired  eyes  and  hands  and  barren  bosom. 
There  is  no  help  for  these  things  ;  Jione  to  mend. 
And  none  to  mar  ;  not  all  our  songs,  0  friend  ! 

AYillmake  death  clear,  or  make  life  durable. 
Howbeit  with  rose  and  ivy  and  wild  vine 
And  with  wild  notes  about  this  dust  of  thine 

At  least  I  fill  the  place  where  white  dreams  dwell, 
And  wreathe  an  unseen  shrine. 


XVII. 

Sleep  ;  and  if  life  was  bitter  to  thee,  pardon, 

If  sweet,  give  thanks  ;  thou  hast  no  more  to  live  ; 
And  to  give  thanks  is  good,  and  to  forgive. 

Out  of  the  mystic  and  the  mournful  garden 

Where  all  day  through  thine  hands  in  barren  braid 
Wove  the  sick  flowers  of  secrecy  and  shade, 

Green  buds  of  sorrow  and  sin,  and  remnants  gray, 
Sweet-smelling,  pale  with  poison,  sanguine-hearted, 
Passions  that  sprang  from  sleep  and  thoughts  that 
started. 

Shall  death  not  bring  us  all  as  thee  one  day 
Among  the  days  departed  ? 

XVIII. 

For  thee,  oh,  now  a  silent  soul,  my  brother, 
Take  at  my  hands  this  garland,  and  farewell 
Thin  is  the  leaf,  and  chill  the  Avintry  smell. 

And  chill  the  solemn  earth,  a  fatal  mother, 
With  sadder  than  the  Niobean  womb, 
And  in  the  hollow  of  her  breasts  a  tomb. 

Content  thee,  howsoe'er,  whose  days  are  done  : 
There  lies  not  any  troublous  thing  before, 
Xor  sight  nor  sound  to  war  against  thee  more. 

For  whom  all  winds  are  quiet  as  the  sun. 
All  waters  as  the  shore. 


MEMORIAL  VERSES.  lYl 

MEMORIAL  VERSES 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THl'oPHILE   GAUTIER. 

Death,  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  me  ?     So  saith 
Love,  with  eyes  set  against  the  face  of  Deatli  ; 

What  have  I  done,  0  thou  strong  Death,  to  thee, 
That  mine  own  lips  should  wither  from  thy  breath  ? 

Thougli  thou  be  blind  as  fire  or  as  the  sea, 

Why  should  thy  waves  and  storms  make  war  on  me  ? 

Is  it  for  hate  thou  hast  to  find  me  fair. 
Or  for  desire  to  kiss,  if  it  might  be, — 

My  very  mouth  of  song,  and  kill  me  there  ? 
So  with  keen  rains  vexing  his  crownless  hair, 

With  bright  feet  bruised  from  no  delightful  way. 
Through  darkness  and  the  disenchanted  air, — 

Lost  Love  went  weeping  half  a  winter's  day. 

And  the  armed  wind  that  smote  him  seemed  to  say. 

How  shall  the  dew  live  when  the  dawn  is  fled, 
Or  wherefore  should  the  Mayflower  outlast  May  ? 

Then  Death  took  Love  by  the  right  hand,  and  said, 
Smiling,  Come  now,  and  look  upon  thy  dead. 
But  Love  cast  down  the  glories  of  his  eyes, 
And  bowed  down  like  a  flower  liis  flowerless  head. 

And  Death  spake,   saying.   What  ails  thee  in  such 

wise. 
Being  god,  to  shut  thy  sight  up  from  the  skies  ? 
If  thou  canst  see  not,  hast  thou  ears  to  hear  ? 
Or  is  thy  soul  too  as  a  leaf  that  dies  ? 

Even  as  he  spake  with  fleshless  lips  of  fear, 
But  soft  as  sleep  sings  in  a  tired  man's  ear. 
Behold,  the  winter  was  not,  and  its  might 
Fell,  and  fruits  broke  forth  of  tlie  barren  year. 


172  MEMORIAL  VERSES. 

And  upon  earth  was  largess  of  great  light, 

And  moving  music  winged  for  world-wide  flight. 

And  shapes  and  sounds  of  gods  beheld  and  heard. 
And  day's  foot  set  upon  the  neck  of  niglit. 

And  with  such  song  the  hollow  ways  were  stirred 
As  of  a  god's  heart  hidden  in  a  bird, 

Or  as  the  whole  soul  of  the  sun  in  spring 
Should  find  full  utterance  in  one  flower-soft  word, — 

And  all  the  season  should   break  forth  and  sing 
From  one  flower's  lips,  in  one  rose  triumphing  ; 

Such  breath  and  light  of  song  as  of  a  flame 
Made  ears  and  spirits  of  them  that  heard  it  ring. 

And  Love  beholding  knew  not  for  the  same 
The  shape  that  led  him,  nor  in  face  nor  name  ; 

For  he  was  bright,  and  great  of  thews,  and  fair, 
And  in  Love's  eyes  he  was  not  Death,  but  Fame. 

Not  that  gray  ghost  whose  life  is  empty  and  bare. 
And  his  limbs  moulded  out  of  mortal  air, 

A  cloud  of  change  that  shifts  into  a  shower. 
And  dies,  and  leaves  no  light  for  time  to  wear  ; 

But  a  god  clothed  with  his  own  joy  and  power, 
A  god  re-risen  out  of  his  mortal  hour 

Lnmortal,  king  and  lord  of  time  and  space, 
Witli  eyes  that  look  on  them  as  from  a  tower. 

And  where  he  stood  the  pale  sepulchral  j)lace 
Bloomed,  as  new  life  might  in  a  bloodless  face. 

And  where  men  sorrowing  came  to  seek  a  tomb 
AVith  funeral  flowers  and  tears  for  grief  and  grace, — 

They  saw  with  light  as  of  a  world  in  bloom 
The  portal  of  the  House  of  Fame  illume 

The  ways  of  life  wherein  we  toiling  tread. 
And  watched  the  darkness  as  a  brand  consume. 

And  through  the  gates  where  rule  the  deathless  dead 
The  sound  of  a  new  singer's  soul  w\is  shed 

That  sang  among  his  kinsfolk,  and  a  beam 
Shot  from  the  star  on  anew  ruler's  head  : 


MEMORIAL  VERSES.  173 

A  new  star  lightening  the  Letliean  stream, 
A  new  song  mixed  into  the  song  supreme 

Made  of  all  souls  of  singers  and  their  might. 
That  makes  of  life  and  time  and  death  a  dream  : 

Thy  star,  thy  song,  0  soul  that  in  our  sight 
Wast  as  a  sun  that  made  for  man's  delight 

Flowers  and  all  fruits  in  season,  being  so  near 
The  sun-god's  face,  our  god  that  gives  us  light. 

To  him,  of  all  gods  that  we  love  or  fear. 
Thou  among  all  men  by  thy  name  wast  dear, — 

Dear  to  the  god  that  gives  us  spirit  of  song 
To  bind  and  burn  all  hearts  of  men  that  hear  ; 

The   god    that   makes    men's  words  too    sweet  and 

strong 
For  life  or  time  or  death  to  do  them  wrong, 
Who  sealed  with  his  thy  spirit  for  a  sign, 
And  filled  it  with  his  breath  thy  whole  life  long  ; 

Who  made  thy  moist  lips  fiery  with  new  wine 
Pressed  from  the  grapes  of  song  the  sovereign  vine. 

And  with  all  love  of  all  things  loveliest 
Gave  thy  soul  power  to  make  them  more  divine, — 

That  thou  might'st  breathe  upon  the  breathless  rest 
Of  marble,  till  the  brows  aiul  lips  and  breast 
Felt  fall  from  off  them  as  a  cancelled  curse 
That  speechless  sleep  wherewith  they  lived  opprest ; 

Who  gave  tliee  strength  and  heat  of  spirit  to  pierce 
All  clouds  of  form  and  color  that  disperse. 

And  leave  the  spirit  of  beauty  to  re-mould 
In  types  of  clean  chryselephantine  verse  ; 

Who  gave  thee  words  more  golden  tluin  fine  gold 
To  carve    in  shapes  more  glorious  than  of  old. 
And  build  thy  songs  up  in  the  sight  of  time 
As  statues  set  in  godhead  numifold, — 

In  sight  and  scorn  of  temporal  cliango  and  clime 
That  meet  the  sun  re-risen  witli  rcfiiient  rhyme — 

As  god  to  god  might  answer  face  to  face — 
From  lips  whereon  tlie  moi-ning  strikes  sublime. 


174  MEMORIAL  VERSES. 

Dear  to  tlie  god,  our  god  wlio  gave  thee  place 
Among  tlie  chosen  of  days,  the  roya!  i-ace, 

The  lords  of  light,  whose  eyes  of  old  and  ears 
Saw  even  on  earth  and  heard  him  for  a  space. 

There  are  the  souls  of  those  once  mortal  years 
That  wrought  with  fire  of  joy  and  light  of  tears, 

In  words  divine  as  deeds  that  grew  thereof. 
Such  music  as  he  swoons  with  love  who  hears. 

There  are  the  lives  that  enlighten  from  above 
Our  under  lives,  the  spheral  souls  that  move 

Through  the  ancient  heaven  of  song-illumined  air, 
Whence  we  that  hear  them  singing  die  with  love. 

There  all  the  crowned  Hellenic  heads,  and  there 
The  old  gods  who  made  men  godlike  as  they  were, 

The  lyric  lips  wherefrom  all  songs  take  fire. 
Live  eyes,  and  light  of  Apollonian  hair. 

There,  round  the  sovereign  passion  of  that  lyre 
Which  the  stars  hear,  and  tremble  with  desire. 

The  ninefold  light  Pierian  is  made  one 
That  here  we  see  divided,  and  aspire, — 

Seeing,  after  this  or  that  crown  to  be  won  ; 
But  where  they  hear  the  singing  of  the  sun, 

All  form,  all  sound,  all  color,  and  all  thought 
Are  as  one  body  and  soul  in  unison. 

There  the  song  sung  shines  as  a  picture  wrought. 
The  painted  mouths  sing  that  on  earth  say  naught. 
The  carven  limbs  have  sense  of  blood  and  growth. 
And  large-eyed  life  that  seeks  nor  lacks  not  aught. 

There  all  the  music  of  thy  living  mouth 
Lives,  and  all  loves  wrought  of  thine  hand  in  youth. 
And  bound  about  the  breasts  and  brows  with  gold, 
And  colored  pale  or  dusk  from  north  or  south. 

Fair  living  things  made  to  thy  will  of  old, 
Born  of  thy  lips,   no  births  of  mortal  mould. 
That  in  the  world  of  song  about  thee  wait 
Where  thought  and  truth  are  one  and  manifold. 


MEMORIAL  VERSES.  175 

Within  the  graven  lintels  of  the  gate 
Tliat  liere  divides  our  vision  and  our  fate, 

The  dreams  we  walk  in  and  the  truths  of  sleep. 
All  sense  and  spirit  have  life  inseparate. 

There,  what  one  thinks,  is  his  to  grasp  and  keep ; 
Tliere  are  no  dreams,  but  very  joys  to  reap  ; 
No  foiled  desires  that  die  before  delight. 
No  fears  to  see  across  our  joys,  and  weep. 

There  hast  thou  all  thy  will  of  thought  and  sight. 
All  hope  for  harvest,  and  all  heaven  for  flight  ; 

The  sun  rise  of  whose  golden-mouthed  glad  head 
The  paler  songless  ghosts  was  heat  and  light. 

Here,  where  the  sunset  of  our  year  is  red. 
Men  think  of  thee  as  of  the  summer  dead. 

Gone  forth  before  the  snows,  before  thy  day, 
With  unshod  feet,  with  brows  unchapleted. 

Couldstthou  not  wait  till  age  had  wound,  they  say, 
Round  those  wreathed  brows  his  soft  white  blossoms  ? 

Nay, 
Why  shouldst  thou  vex  thy  soul  with  this  harsh 

air, — 
Thy  bright-winged  soul,  once  free  to  take  its  way  ? 

Nor  for  men's  reverence  hadst  thou  need  to  wear 
The  holy  flowers  of  gray  time-hallowed  hair  ; 
Nor  were  it  fit  that  aught  of  thee  grew  old. 
Fair  lover  all  tliy  days  of  all  things  fair. 

And  hear  we  not  thy  words  of  molten  gold 
Singing  ?  or  is  their  light  and  heat  a-cold 

Whereat  men  warmed    their  spirits  ?    Nay,   for  all 
These  yet  are  with  us,  ours  to  hear  and  hold. 

The  lovely  laughter,  the  clear  tears,  the  call 
Of  love  to  love  on  ways  where  shadows  fall, 

Through  doors  of  dim  divisions  and  disguise. 
And  music  made  of  doubts  unmusical  ; 


176  MEMORIAL  VERSES. 

The  love  thtit  caught  strange  light  from  death's  own 

eyes/ 
And  filled  death's  lips  with  fier}^  words  and  sighs, 

And  half  asleep  let  feed  from  veins  of  his 
Her  close  red  warm  snake's  mouth,  Egyptian-wise  : 

And  that    great  night  of  love    more  strange   than 

this," 
When    she   that  made  the  whole   world's  bale  and 

bliss 
Made  king  of  the  whole  world's  desire  a  slave, 
And  killed  him  in  mid  kingdom  with  a  kiss  ; 

Veiled  loves     that   shifted    shapes  and  shafts,  and 

gave,' 
Laughing,  strange    gifts  to    hands    that  durst  not 

crave. 
Flowers    doubled-blossomed,  fruits  of   scent  and 

hue 
Sweet  as  the  bride-bed,  stranger  than  the  grave  ; 

All  joys  and  wonders  of  old  lives  and  new 
That  ever  in  love's  shine  or  shadow  grew. 

And  all  the  grief  whereof  he  dreams   and  grieves. 
And  all  sweet  roots  fed  on  his  light  and  dew  ; 

All  these  through  thee  our  spirit  of  sense  perceives. 
As  threads  in  the  unseen  woof  thy  music  weaves, 
Birds  caught  and  snared  that   fill    our  ears   with 
thee, 
Bay-blossoms  in  thy  wreath  of  brow-bound  leaves. 

Mixed  with  the  masque  of  death's  old  comedy 
Thougli  thou  too  pass,  have  here  our  fiowers,  that  we 

For  all  the  flowers  thou  gav'st  upon  thee  shed. 
And  pass  not  crownless  to  Persejihone. 

Blue  iotus-blooms  and  white  and  rosy-red 
We  wind  with  poppies  for  tliy  silent-  head. 
And  on  this  margin  of  tlie  sundering  sea 
Leave  thy  sweet  light  to  rise  upon  the  dead. 

1  La  Morte  Amoureuse, 

2  Une  Nuit  Cleopatre. 

^  Mademoiselle  cle  Maupin. 


AGE  AND  SONG.  X77 

AGE  AND  SONG. 

(to  BAERY    CORNWALL.) 


In  vain  men  tell  us  time  g.in  alter 

Old  loves,  or  make  old  memories  falter  ; 

That  with  the  old  year  tlie  old  year's  life  closes. 
The  old  dew  still  falls  on  the  old  sweet  flowers. 
The  old  sun  revives  the  new-fledged  hours. 

The  old  summer  rears  the  new-born  roses. 


II. 

Much  more  a  Muse  that  bears  upon  her 
Raiment  and  wreath  and  flower  of  honor. 

Gathered  long  since  and  long  since  woven. 
Fades  not  or  falls  as  fall  the  vernal 
Blossoms  that  bear  no  fruit  eternal, 

By  summer  or  winter  charred  or  cloven. 

III. 

No  time  casts  down,  no  time  upraises, 
Such  loves,  such  memories,  and  such  praises. 

As  need  no  grace  of  sun  or  shower, 
No  saving  screen  from  frost  or  thunder. 
To  tend  and  house  around  and  under 

The  imperishable  and  fearless  flower. 

IV. 

Old  thanks,  old  thoughts,  old  aspirations. 
Outlive  men's  lives  and  lives  of  nations, 

Dead,  but  for  one  tiling  which  survives — 
The  inalienable  and  unpriced  treasure. 
The  old  joy  of  ])ower,  the  old  ]n-ide  of  pleasure^ 

That  lives  in  light  above  men's  lives, 
13 


178      IN  MEMORY  OF  BARRY  CORNWALL. 

IN  MEMORY    OF  BARRY  CORNWALL. 

(Oct.  4,  1874.) 


In  the  garden  of   death,  Avhere  the  singers   whose 
names  are  deathless 
One  with  another  make  music  unheard  of  men, 
Where  the  dead  sweet  roses  fade  not  of  lips  long 
breathless, 
And  the  fair  eyes  shine  that   shall  Aveep  not  or 
change  again, 
Who  comes  now  crowned  with  the  blossom  of  snow- 
white  years  ? 
What  music  is  this  that  the  world  of  the  dead  men 
hears  ? 

II. 

Beloved    of   men,    whose   words   on   our  lips  were 
honey, 
Whose  name  in  our  ears  and  our  fathers'  ears  was 
sweet, 
Like  summer  gone   forth  of  the  land  his  songs  made 
sunny, 
To  the  beautiful  veiled  bright  world  Avhere  the  glad 
ghosts  meet. 
Child,   father,  bridegroom  and  bride,   and  anguish 

and  rest. 
No  soul  shall  pass  of  a  singer  than  this  more  blest. 


III. 

Blest  for  the  years'  sweet  sake  that  were  filled  and 
brightened. 
As  a  forest  with  birds,  with  the  fruit  and  the  flower 
of  his  song  ; 
For  the  souls'  sake  blest  that  heard,  and  their  cares 
were  lightened. 
For  the  heart's  sake  blest  that  have  fostered  his 
name  so  long  ; 


IN  MEMORY  OF  BARRY  CORNWALL.         I79 

By  the  living  iiud  dead  lips  blest  that  have  loved  his 

name, 
And   clothed    with  their  praise  and  crowned  with 

their  love  for  fame. 


IV. 

Ah,  fair  and  fragrant  his  fame  as  flowers  that  close 

not, 
That  shrink  not  by  day  for  heat  or  for  cold  by 

night,  _ 
As  a  thought  in  the  heart  shall  increase  when   the 

heart's  self  knows  not. 
Shall  endure  in  our  ears  as  a  sound,  in  our  eyes  as 

a  light  ; 
Shall  wax  with  the  years  that  wane  and  the  seasons' 

chime, 
As  a  white  rose  thornless  that  grows  in  the  garden  of 

time. 


The  same  year  calls,  and  one  goes  hence  with  an- 
other. 
And  men  sit  sad  that  were  glad  for  their  sweet 
songs'  sake  ; 

The   same    year  beckons,  and   elder   with   younger 
brother 
Takes  mutely  the  cup  from  his  hand  that  we  all 
shall  take.' 

They  pass  ere  the  leaves  be  past  or  the  snows  be 
come  ; 

And  the   birds  are  loud,  but  the  lips  that  outsang 
them  dumb. 

VI. 

Time  takes  them  home  that  we  loved,  fair   names 

and  famous. 
To  the  soft  long  sleep,  to  the  bro:id  sweet  bosom 

of  death  ; 
But  the  flower  of  their  souls  he  shall  take  not  away 

to  shame  us, 

1  Sydney  Dobell  died  Aug.  22,  1874. 


180  EPICEDE. 

Nor   the   lips  lack   song   forever   that   now   lack 

breath. 
For  with  us  shall  the  music  and  jDerfume  that  die 

not  dwell, 
Though  the  dead  to  our  dead  bid  welcome,  and  we 

farewell. 


EPICEDE. 

(James  Lorimer  Graham  died  at  Florence,  April  30,  1876.) 

Life  may  give  for  love  to  death 
Little  :  what  are  life's  gifts  worth 
To  the  dead  wrapt  round  with  earth  ? 

Yet  from  lips  of  living  breath 

Sighs  or  words  we  are  fain  to  give. 
All  that  yet,  while  yet  we  live, 

Life  may  give  for  love  to  death. 

Dead  so  long  before  his  day, 

Passed  out  of  the  Italian  sun 

To  the  dark  where  all  is  done 
Fallen  upon  the  verge  of  IMay  ; 

Here  at  life's  and  April's  end 

How  should  song  salute  my  friend 
Dead  so  loug  before  his  day  ? 

Not  a  kindlier  life  or  sweeter, 

Time,  that  lights  and  quenches  men, 
Xow  may  quench  or  light  again  ; 

Mingling  with  the  mystic  metre 
Woven  of  all  men's  lives  with  his, 
Not  a  clearer  note  than  this. 

Not  a  kindlier  life  or  sweeter. 

In  this  heavenliest  part  of  earth 

He  that  living  loved  tlie  light, 

Light  and  song,  may  rest  aright. 
One  in  death,  if  strange  in  birth. 

With  the  deathless  dead  that  make 

Life  the  lovelier  for  their  sake 
In  this  heavenliest  part  of  earth. 


INFERI.^.  181 

Light,  and  song,  and  sleep  at  last, — 
Struggling  hands  and  suppliant  knees 
Get  no  goodlier  gift  than  these. 

Song  that  holds  remembrance  fast, 
Light  that  lightens  death,  attend 
Round  their  graves  who  have  to  friend 

Light,  and  soug,  and  sleep  at  last. 


INFERI^. 

Spring,  and  the  light  and  sound  of  things  on  earth 
Re-quickening,  all  within  our  green  sea's  girth  ; 
A  time  of  passage  or  a  time  of  birth 

Fourscore  years  since  as  this  year,  first  and  last. 

The  sun  is  all  about  the  world  we  see. 
The  breath  and  strength  of  very  spring  ;  and  we 
Live,  love,  and  feed  on  our  own  hearts  :  but  he 
Whose  heart  fed  mine  has  passed  into  the  past. 

Past,   all   things    born   with  sense     and  blood    and 

breath  ; 
The  flesh  hears  naught  that  now  the  spirit  saith. 
If  death  be  like  as  birth,  and   birth  as  death. 
The  first  was  fair — more  fair  should  be  the  last. 

Fourscore  years  since,   and  come    but    one  month 

more. 
The  count  were  perfect  of  his  mortal  score 
Whose  sail  went  seaward  yesterday  from  shore 
To  cross  the  last  of  many  an  unsailed  sea. 

Light,  love,  and  labor  up  to  life's  last  height, — 
These  three  Avero  stars  unsetting  in  his  sight. 
Even  as  the  sun  is  life  and  heat  and  liglit, 
And  sets  not  nor  is  dark  when  dark  are  we. 

The  life,  the  spirit,  and  the  work  were  one 
That  here — ah  !  who  shall  say,  that  here  arc  done  ? 
Not  I,  that  know  not  ;  father,  not  thy  son. 
For  all  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  sea, 

March  5, 1977. 


1S2  A  BIRTH-SONG. 


A  BIRTH-SONG. 

(For  Olivia   Frances   Madox     Rossetti,    born  Sept.    20, 

1875.) 

Out  of  the  dark  sweet  sleep 
Where  no  dreams  laugh  or  weep, 

Borne  through  bright  gates  of  birth 
Into  the  dim  sweet  light 
Where  day  still  dreams  of  night 

While  heaven  takes  form  on  earth. 
White  rose  of  spirit  and  flesh,  red  lily  of  love. 

What  note  of  song  have  we 
Fit  for  the  birds  and  thee, 
Fair  nestling  couched  beneath  the  mother-dove  ? 

Nay,  in  some  more  divine 

Small  speechless  song  of  thine 
Some  news  too  good  for  words, 

Heart-huslied  and  smiling,  we 

Might  hope  to  have  of  thee. 
The  youngest  of  God's  birds, 
If  thy  sweet  sense  might  mix  itself  with  ours. 

If  ours  might  understand 

The  language  of  thy  land. 
Ere  thine  become  the  tongue  of  mortal  hours  : 

Ere  thy  lips  learn  too  soon 
Their  soft  first  human  tune, 

Sweet,  but  less  sweet  than  now. 
And  thy  raised  eyes  to  read 
Glad  and  good  things  indeed. 

But  none  so  sweet  as  thou  : 
Ere  thought  lift  up  their  flower-soft  lids  to  see 

What  life  and  love  on  earth 

Bring  thee  for  gifts  at  birth. 
But  none  so  good  as  thine  who  hast  given  us  thee 

Now,  ere  thy  sense  forget 
The  heaven  that  fills  it  yet. 

Now,  sleeping  or  awake, 
If  thou  couldst  tell,  or  we 
Ask  and  be  hoard  of  thee. 

For  love's  undying  sake. 


A  BIRTH-SONG.  183 

From  thy  dumb  lips  divine  and  bright  mute  speech 

Such  dews  might  touch  our  ear 

That  then  would  burn  to  hear 
Too  high  a  message  now  for  man's  to  reach. 

Ere  the  gold  hair  of  corn 

Had  withered  wast  thou  born, 
To  make  tlie  good  time  glad  ; 

The  time  that  but  last  year 

Fell  colder  than  a  tear 

On  hearts  and   hopes  turned  sad. 
High  hopes  and  hearts  requickening  in  thy  dawn, 

Even  theirs  whose  life-springs,  child. 

Filled  thine  with  life  and  smiled. 
But   then  wept    blood   for    half   their   own   with- 
drawn.' 

If  death  and  birth  be  one. 
And  set  with  rise  of  sun, 

And  truth  Avith  dreams  divine, 
Some  word  might  come  with  thee 
From  over  the  still  sea 

Deep  hid  in  shade  or  shine. 
Crossed  by  the  crossing  sails  of  death  and  birth, 
Word  of  some  sweet  new  thing 
Fit  for  such  lips  to  bring. 
Some  word  of  love,  some  afterthought  of  earth. 

If  love  be  strong  as  death. 
By  what  so  natural  breath 

As  thine  could  this  be  said  ? 
By  what  so  lovely  way 
Could  love  send  word  to  say 

He  lives  aiid  is  not  dead  ? 
Such  word  alone  were  fit  for  only  thee. 
If  his  and  thine  have  met 
Where  spirits  rise  and  set. 
His  whom  we  see  not,  thine  whom  scarce  we  see  : 

His  there  new-born,  as  thou 

New-born  among  us  now  ; 
His,  here  so  fruitful-souled, 

1  Oliver  Madox  Brown  died  Nov.  5,  1874,  in  his  twentieth 
year. 


184  EX-VOTO. 

Now  veiled  and  silent  here, 
Now  dumb  as  thou  last  year, 
A  ghost  of  one  year  old  : 
If  lights  that  change  their  sphere   in   changing 
meet, 
Some  raymight  his  not  give 
To  thine  who  wast  to  live, 
And  make  thy  present  with  his  past  life  sweet  ? 

Let  dreams  that  laugh  or  weep, 

All  glad  and  sad  dreams,  sleep  ; 
Truth  more  than  dreams  is  dear. 

Let  thoughts  that  change  and  fly. 

Sweet  thoughts  and  swift,  go  by  ; 
More  than  all  thought  is  here. 
More  than  all  hope  can  forge,  or  memory  feign, 

Tlie  life  that  in  our  eyes. 

Made  out  of  love's  life,  lies. 
And  flower-like  fed  with  love  for  sun  and  rain. 

Twice  royal  in  his  root 
The  sweet  small  olive-shoot 
Here  set  in  sacred  earth  ; 
Twice  dowered  with  glorious  grace 
From  either  heaven-born  race 
First  blended  in  its  birth  ; 
Fair  god  or  genius  of  so  fair  an  hour. 
For  love  of  either  name 
Twice  crowned,  with  love  and  fame, 
Guard  and  be  gracious  to  the  fair-named  flower. 
Oct.  19,  1875. 


EX-VOTO. 

When  their  last  hour  shall  rise 
Pale  on  these  mortal  eyes. 
Herself  like  one  that  dies. 

And  kiss  me  dying 
The  cold  last  kiss,  and  fold 
Close  round  my  limbs  her  cold 
Soft  shade  as  raiment  rolled, 

Aud  leftve  them  lyiugj-« 


EX-VOTO.  185 

If  aught  my  soul  would  say 
Might  move  to  hear  me  pray 
The  birth-god  of  my  day 
That  he  might  hearken, 
This  grace  my  heart  should  crave, — 
To  find  no  landward  grave 
That  worldly  springs  make  brave. 
World's  winters  darken, — 

Nor  grow  through  gradual  hours 
The  cold  blind  seed  of  flowers 
Made  by  new  beams  and  showers 

From  limbs  that  moulder. 
Nor  take  my  part  with  earth  ; 
But  find  for  death's  new  birth 
A  bed  of  larger  girth. 

More  chaste  and  colder. 

Not  earth's  for  spring  and  fall, 
Not  earth's  at  heart,  not  all 
Earth's  making,  tliougli  men  call 

Earth  only  mother. 
Not  hers  at  lieart  she  bare 
Me,  but  thy  child,  0  fair 
Sea,  and  thy  brother's  care. 

The  wind  thy  brother. 

Yours  was  I  born,  and  ye. 
The  sea-wind  and  the  sea, 
Made  all  my  soul  in  me 

A  song  forever, 
A  harp  to  string  and  smite 
For  love's  sake  of  the  bright 
AV^ind  and  the  sea's  delight. 

To  fail  them  never  : 

Not  while  on  this  side  death 
I  hear  what  either  saith, 
And  drink  of  cither's  breath 

With  heart's  thanksgiving 
That  in  my  veins  like  wine 
Some  sharp  salt  blood  of  thine, 
Some  springtide  pulse  of  brine, 

Yet  leaps  up  living. 


186  EX-VOTO. 

When  thy  salt  lips  well-nigh 
Sucked  in  my  mouth's  last  sigh. 
Grudged  I  so  much  to  die 

This  death  as  others  ? 
Was  it  no  ease  to  think 
The  chalice  from  whose  brink 
Fate  gave  me  death  to  drink 

Was  thine, — my  mother's  ? 

Thee  too,  the  all-fostering  earth. 

Fair  as  thy  fairest  birth. 

More  than  thy  worthiest  worth, 

We  call,  we  know  thee. 
More  sweet  and  just  and  dread 
Than  live  men  highest  of  head 
Or  even  thy  holiest  dead 

Laid  low  below  thee. 

The  sunbeam  on  the  sheaf. 
The  dew-fall  on  the  leaf. 
All  joy,  all  grace,  all  grief. 

Are  thine  for  giving  : 
Of  thee  our  loves  are  born, 
Our  lives  and  loves,  that  mourn 
And  triumph  ;  tares  with  corn^ 

Dead  seed  with  living  ; 

All  good  and  ill  things  done 
In  eye-shot  of  the  sun 
At  last  in  thee  made  one 

Rest  well  contented  ; 
All  words  of  all  man's  breath. 
And  works  he  doth  or  saith. 
All  Avholly  done  to  death, 

None  long  lamented. 

A  slave  to  sons  of  thee. 
Thou,  seeming,  yet  art  free  ; 
But  who  shall  make  the  sea 

Serve  even  in  seeming  ? 
What  plough  shall  bid  it  bear 
Seed  to  the  sun  and  the  air. 
Fruit  for  thy  strong  sons'  fare. 

Fresh  wine's  foam  streaming  ! 


PASTICHE.  Ig7 

What  old-world  son  of  thine, 
Made  drunk  with  death  as  wine, 
Hath  drunk  the  bright  sea's  brine 

With  lips  of  laughter  ? 
Thy  blood  they  drink  ;  but  he 
Who  hath  drunken  of  the  sea 
Once  deeplier  than  of  thee 

Shall  drink  not  after. 

Of  thee  thy  sons  of  men 

Drink  deep,  and  thirst  again, — 

For  wine  in  feasts,  and  then 

In  fields  for  slaughter  ; 
But  thirst  shall  touch  not  him 
Who  hath  felt  with  sense  grown  dim 
Eise,  covering  lip  and  limb. 

The  wan  sea's  water. 

All  fire  of  thirst  that  aches 
The  salt  sea  cools  and  slakes 
More  than  all  springs  or  lakes, 

Freshets  or  shallows  ; 
Wells  where  no  beam  can  burn 
Through  frondage  of  the  fern 
That  hides  from  hart  and  hern 

The  haunt  it  hallows. 

Peace  with  all  graves  on  earth 
For  death  or  sleep  or  birth 
Be  alway,  one  in  worth 

One  with  another  ; 
But  when  my  time  shall  be, 
0  mother,  0  my  sea. 
Alive  or  dead,  take  me, 

Me  too,  my  mother  ! 


PASTICHE. 

Now  the  days  are  all  gone  over 

Of  our  singing,  love  by  lover, 

Days  of  summer-colored  seas 

Blown  adrift  througli  beam  and  breeze. 


188  BEFORE  SUNSET. 

Now  the  nights  are  till  past  over 
Of  onr  dreaming,  dreams  that  hover 
In  a  mist  of  fair  false  things. 
Nights  afloat  on  wide  wan  wings. 

Now  the  loves  with  faith  for  mother, 
Now  the  fears  with  hope  for  brother. 
Scarce  are  with  us  as  strange  words. 
Notes  from  songs  of  last  year's  birds. 

Now  all  good  that  comes  or  goes  is 
As  the  smell  of  last  year's  roses, 
As  the  radiance  in  our  eyes 
Shot  from  summer's  ere  he  dies. 

Now  the  morning  faintlier  risen 
Seems  no  god  come  forth  of  prison, 
But  a  bird  of  plume-plncked  wing, 
Pale  with  thought  of  evening. 

Now  hath  hope,  out-raced  in  running. 
Given  the  torch  up  of  his  cunning. 
And  the  palm  he  thought  to  wear. 
Even  to  his  own  strong  child, — despair. 

BEFOEE  SUNSET. 

In  the  lower  lands  of  day 

On  the  hither  side  of  night. 
There  is  nothing  that  will  stay, 

There  are  all  things  soft  to  sight  ; 

Lighted  shade  and  shadowy  light 
In  the  wayside  and  the  way. 

Hours  the  sun  has  spared  to  smite. 
Flowers  the  rain  has  left  to  play. 

Shall  these  hours  run  down  and  say 

No  good  thing  of  thee  and  me  ? 
Time  that  made  us  and  will  slay 

Laughs  at  love  in  me  and  thee  ; 

But  if  here  the  flowers  may  see 
One  whole  hour  of  amorous  breath. 

Time  shall  die,  and  love  shall  be 
Lord  as  time  was  over  death. 


SONG— A  VISION  OF  SPRING  IN  WINTER.     189 


SONG. 

Love  laid  his  sleepless  head 
On  a  thorny  rosy  bed  ; 
And  his  eyes  with  tears  were  red. 
And  pale  liis  lips  as  the  dead. 

And  fear  and  sorrow  and  scorn 
Kept  watch  by  his  head  forlorn. 
Till  the  night  was  overworn, 
And  the  world  was  merry  with  morn. 

And  Joy  came  up  with  the  day, 
And  kissed  Lovers  lips  as  he  lay, 
And  the  watchers  ghostly  and  gray 
Sped  from  his  pillow  away. 

And  his  eyes  as  the  dawn  grew  bright. 
And  his  lips  waxed  ruddy  as  light  : 
Sorrow  may  reign  for  a  night, 
But  day  shall  bring  back  delight. 


A  VISION  OF  SPRING  IN  WINTER. 


0  TENDER  time  that  love  thinks  long  to  see. 
Sweet  foot  of  spring  that  with  her  footfall  sows 
Late  snowlike  flowery  leavings  of  the  snows, 

Be  not  too  long  irresolute  to  be  ! 

0  mother-month,  where  have  they  hidden  thee  ? 
Out  of  the  pale  time  of  the  flowerless  rose, 

1  reach  my  heart  out  toward  thcspringtime  lands. 

I  stretch  my  spirit  forth  to  the  fair  hours, 

The  purplest  of  the  prime  ; 
I  lean  my  soul  down  over  them,  with  hands 

Made  wide  to  take  the  ghostly  growths  of  flowers 

I  send  my  love  back  to  the  lovely  time. 


190  A  VISION  OF  SPRING  IN  WINTER. 

II. 

Where  has  the  greenwood  hid  thy  gracious  head  ? 
Veiled  with  what   visions  while   the   gray    world 

grieves, 
Or  muffled  with  what  shadows  of  green  leaves. 
With  warm  intangible  green  shadows  spread 
To  sweeten  the  sweet  twilight  for  thy  bed  ? 

What  sleep  enchants  thee  ?  what  delight  deceives  ? 
Where  the  deep  dreamlike  dew  before  the  dawn 
Feels  not  the  fingers  of  the  sunlight  yet 
Its  silver  web  unweave. 
Thy  footless  ghost  on  some  unfooted  lawn 
Whose  air  the  unrisen  sunbeams  fear  to  fret 
.  Lives  a  ghost's  life  of  daylong  dawn  and  eve. 

III. 

Sunrise  it  sees  not,  neither  set  of  star, 
Large  nightfall,  nor  imperial  penilune. 
Nor  strong  sweet  shape  of  the  full-breasted  noon  ; 

But  where  the  silver  sandalled  shadows  are. 

Too  soft  for  arrows  of  the  sun  to  mar. 

Moves  with  the  mild  gait  of  an  ungrown  moon  : 

Hard  overhead  the  half-lit  crescent  swims, 
The  tender-colored  night  draws  hardly  breath, 
The  light  is  listening  ; 

They  watch  the  dawn  of  slender-shapen  limbs, 
Virginal,  born  again  of  doubtful  death. 
Chill  foster-father  of  the  weanling  spring. 

IV. 

As  sweet  desire  of  day  before  the  day, 

As  dreams  of  love  before  the  true  love  born. 
From  the  outer  edge  of  w^inter  overworn 

The  ghost  arisen  of  May  before  the  May 

Takes  through  dim  air  her  unawakened  way. 
The  gracious  ghost  of  morning  risen  ere  morn. 

With  little  unblown  breasts  and  child-eyed  looks 
Following,  the  very  maid,  the  girl-child  spring. 
Lifts  windward  her  bright  brows. 

Dips  her  light  feet  in  warm  and  moving  brooks. 
And  kindles  with  her  own  mouth's  coloring 
The  fearful  fii-stlings  of  the  plumeless  boughs. 


A  VISION  OP  SPRING  IN  WINTER.  I9I 


I  seek  thee  sleeping,  and  awhile  I  see, 

Fair  face  that  art  not,  how  thy  maiden  breath 
Shall  put  at  last  the  deadly  days  to  death, 

And  fill  the  fields  and  fire  the  woods  with  thee. 

And  seaward  hollows  where  my  feet  would  be 

When  heaven  shall  hear  the  word  that  April  saith 

To  change  the  cold  heart  of  the  weary  time, 
To  stir  and  soften  all  the  time  to  tears, 
Tears  joyfuller  than  mirth  ; 

As  even  to  May's  clear  height  the  young  days  climb 
With  feet  not  swifter  than  those  fair  first  years 
Whose  flowers  revive  not  with  thy  flowers  on  eartli. 

VI. 

I  would  not  bid  thee,  though  I  might,  give  back 
One  good  thing  youth  has  given  and  borne  away  : 
I  crave  not  any  comfort  of  the  day 
That  is  not,  nor  on  time's  re-trodden  track 
Would  turn  to  meet  the  white-robed   hours  or  black 

That  long  since  left  me  on  their  mortal  way  ; 
Nor  light  nor  love  that  has  been,  nor  the  breath 
That  comes  with  morning  from  the  sun  to  be. 
And  sets  liglit  hope  on  fire  ; 
No  fruit,  no  flower  thought  once  too  fair  for  death. 
No  flower  nor  hour  once  fallen  from  life's  green 
tree. 
No  leaf  once  plucked,  or  once  fulfilled  desire. 

VII. 

The  morning  song  beneath  the  stars  that  fled 

With  twilight  through  the  moonless  mountain  air, 
While  youth  with  burning  lips  and  wreathless  hair 
Sang  toward  the  sun  that  was  to  crown  his  head, 
Rising  ;  the  hopes  that  triumplied  and  fell  dead. 

The  sweet  swift  eyes  and  songs  of  hours  that  were, — 
These  may'st  tliou  not  give  back  forever  ;  these. 
As  at  the  sea's  heart  all  her  wrecks  lie  waste. 
Lie  deeper  than  the  sea  ; 
But  flowers  thou  may'st,  and  winds,  and  hours  of 
ease. 
And  all  its  April  to  the  world  thou  may'st 
Give  back,  and  half  my  April  back  to  me. 


19^  AT  PARTING— THE  WHITE  CZAR. 


AT  PARTING. 

Foe  a  day  and  night  Love  sang  to  us,  played  with  us, 

Folded  us  round  from  the  dark  and  the  light ; 
And  our  hearts  were  fulfilled  of  the  music  he  made 

with  us. 
Made  with  our  hearts   and  our  lips   while  he  stayed 
with  us. 
Stayed  in  mid  passage  his  pinions  from  flight 
For  a  day  and  a  night. 

From  his  foes  that  kept  watch  with  his  wings  had  he 
hidden  us. 
Covered  us  close  from  the  eyes  that  would  smite, 
From  the  feet  that  had  tracked  and  the  tongues  that 

had  chidden  us 
Sheltering  in  shade  of  the  myrtles  forbidden  us 
Spirit  and  flesh  growing  one  with  delight 
For  a  day  and  a  night. 

But  his  wings  will  not  rest,  and  his  feet  will  not 
stay  for  us  : 
Morning  is  here  in  the  joy  of  its  might ; 
With  his  breath  has  he  sweetened  a  night  and  a  day 

for  us  : 
Now  let  him  pass,  and  the  myrtles  make  way  for  us  ; 
Love  can  but  last  in  us  here  at  his  height 
For  a  day  and  a  night. 

THE  WHITE  CZAR. 

[In  an  English  magazine  of  1877,  tliere  appeared  a  ver- 
sion of  some  insolent  lines  addressed  by  '•  A  Russian  Poet 
to  the  Empress  of  India."  To  these  the  first  of  the  two 
following  sonnets  was  designed  to  serve  by  way  of  counter- 
blast. The  writer  will  scarcely  be  suspected  of  royalism 
or  imperialism  ;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  an  insult  levelled 
by  Muscovite  lips  at  the  ruler  of  England  might  perhaps 
be  less  unfitly  than  unofl^cially  resented  by  an  English- 
man who  was  also  a  republican.] 

I. 

Gehazi  by  the  hue  that  chills  tliy  cheek 

And  Pilate  by  the  hue  that  sears  thine  hand 
AVhence  all  earth's  Avaters  cannot  wash  tlie  brand 

That  signs  thy  soul  a  manslayer's  though  thou  speak 


RIZPAH.  193 

All    Christ,   with    lips    most    murderous   aud    most 
meek — 

Thou  set  thy  foot  where  England's  used  to  stand  ! 

Thou  reach  thy  rod  forth  over  Indian  land  ! 
Slave  of  the  slaves  that  call  thee  lord,  and  weak 
As  their  foul  tongues  who  praise  thee  !  son  of  them 
Whose  presence  put  the  snows  and  stars  to  shame 

In  centuries  dead  and  damned  that  reek  below 
Curse-consecrated,  crowned  with  crime  and  flame, 

To  them  that  bare  thee  like  them  shalu  thou  go 

Forth  of  man's  life, — a  leper  white  as  snow. 

II. 

Call  for  clear  water,  wash  thine  hands,  be  clean, 
Cry,  W/iat  is  truth  ?     0  Pilate  !  thou  shalt  know 
Haply  too  soon,  and  gnash  thy  teeth  for  woe 
Ere  the  outer  darkness  take  thee  round  unseen 
That  hides  the  red  ghosts  of  thy  race  obscene 

Bound  nine  times  round  with  hell's  most  dolorous 

flow, 
And  in  its  pools  thy  crownless  head  lie  low 
By  his  of  Spain  who  dared  an  English  queen 
With  half  a  world  to  hearten  him  for  fight, 
Till  the  wind  gave  his  warriors  and  their  might 
To  shipwreck  and  the  corpse-encumbered  sea. 
But  thou,  take  heed  ere  yet  thy  lips  wax  white, 
Lest  as  it  was  with  Pliilip  so  it  be, 
0  white  of  name  and  red  of  hand,  with  thee  ! 


EIZPAH. 

How  many  sons,  how  many  generations. 

For  how  long  years  hast  thou  bewept,  and  known 
Nor  end  of  torment  nor  surcease  of  moan, 

Eachel  or  Rizpah,  wofullest  of  nations, 

Crowned  with  the  crowning  sign  of  desolations. 
And  couldst  not  even  scare  ofl'  with  hand  or  groan 
Those  carrion  birds  devouring  bono  by  bono 

'I'ho  children  of  thy  thousand  tribulations  ? 

Tliou  wast  our  ^^rrior  once  ;  thy  sous  long  dead 
^3 


194       TO  LOUIS  KOSSUTH— THE  PILGRIMS. 

Against  a  foe  less  foul  than  this  made  head, 
Poland,  in  3'ears  that  sonnd  and  shine  afar  ; 

Ere  the  east  beheld  in  thy  bright  sword-blade's  stead 
The  rotten  corpse-light  of  the  Russian  star 
That  lights  towards  hell  his  bond-slaves  and  their 
Czar. 


TO  LOUIS  KOSSUTH. 

Light  of  our  fathers'  eyes,  and  in  our  own 
Star  of  the  unsetting  sunset !  for  thy  name, 
That  on  the  front  of  noon  was  as  a  flame 

In  the  great  year  nigh  thirty  years  agone 

When  all  the  heavens  of  Europe  shook  and  shone 
With  stormy  wind  and  lightning,  keeps  its  fame 
And  bears  its  witness  all  day  through  the  same. 

Not  for  past  days  and  great  deeds  past  alone, 

Kossuth,  we  praise  thee  as  our  Landor  praised  ; 

But  that  now  too  we  know  thy  voice  upraised, — 
Thy  voice,  the  trumpet  of  the  truth  of  God, 

Thine  hand,  the  thunder-bearer's,  raised  to  smite 
As  with  heaven's  lightning  for  a  sword  and  rod 

Men's  heads  abased  before  the  Muscovite. 


THE  PILGRIMS. 

Who  is  your  lady  of  love,  0  ye  that  pass 
Singing  ?  and  is  it  for  sorrow  of  that  which  was 
That  ye  sing  sadly,  or  dream  of  what  shall  be  ? 
For  gladly  at  once  and  sadly  it  seems  ye  sing. 
— Our  lady  of  love  by  you  is  unbeholden  ; 
For  hands  she  hath   none,   nor  eyes,   nor  lips,  nor 
golden 
Treasure  of  hair,  nor  face  nor  form.     But  we 
That  love,  we  know  her  more  fair  than  any  thing. 

— Is  she  a  queen,  having  great  gifts  to  give  ? 
— Yea,  these  :  that  whoso   hath  seen  her  shall  not 
live 
Except  he  serve  her  sorrowing,  with  strange  pain 
Travail  and  bloodshedding  and  bitterer  tears  : 


THE  PILGRIMS.  195 

And  when  she  bids  die  he  shall  surely  die. 
And  he  shall  leave  all  things  under  the  sky, 
And  go  forth  naked  under  sun  and  rain. 

And  work  and  wait  and  watch  out  all  his  years. 

— Hath  she  on  earth  no  place  of  habitation  ? 
— Age  to  age  calling,  nation  answering  nation. 

Cries  out.  Where  is  she  ?  and  there  is  none  to  say  ; 
For  if  she  be  not  in  the  spirit  of  men. 
For  if  in  the  inward  soul  she  hath  no  place, 
In  vain  they  cry  unto  her,  seeking  her  face. 

In  vain  their  mouths  make  much  of  her  ;  for  they 
Cry  with  vain  tongues,  till  the  heart  lives  again. 

— 0  ye  that  follow,  and  have  ye  no  repentance  ? 
For  on  your  brows  is  written  a  mortal  sentence. 
An  hieroglyph  of  sorrow,  a  fiery  sign. 

That  in  your  lives  ye  shall  not  pause  or  rest. 
Nor  have  the  sure  sweet  common  love,  nor  keep 
Friends  and  safe  days,  nor  joy  of  life  nor  sleep. 
— These  have  we  not,   who  have  one  thing,   the 
divine 
Face  and  clear  eyes  of  faith  and  fruitful  breast. 

— And   ye  shall  die  before  your  thrones  be  won. 
— Yea,  and  the  changed  world  and  the  liberal  sun 
Shall  move  and  shine  without  us,  and  we  lie 
Dead  ;  but  if  she  too  move  on  earth,  and  live. 
But  if  the  old  world  with  all  the  old  irons  rent 
Laugh  and  give  thanks,  shall  we  be  not  content  ? 
Nay,  we  shall  rather  live,  we  shall  not  die, 

Life  being  so  little,  and  death  so  good  to  give. 

— And  these  men  shall  forget  you. — Yea,  but  we 

Shall  be  a  part  of  the  earth  and  the  ancient  sea. 

And  heaven-high  air  august,  and  awful  fire, 

And  all  things  good  ;   and  no  man's  heart  shall 
beat 
But  somewhat  in  it  of  our  blood  once  shed 

Shall  quiver  and  quicken,  as  now  in  us  the  dead 
Blood  of  men  slain  and  tlie  old  same  life's  desire 
Plants  in  their  fiery  footprints  our  fresh  feet. 


196  THE  PILGRIMS. 

— But  ye    that  might    be  clothed   with  all  things 

pleasant. 
Ye  are  foolish  that  put  off  the  fair  soft  present, 
That  clothe  yourselves  with  the  cold  future  air  ; 
When  mother  and  father  and  tender  sister  and 
brother 
And  the  old  live  love  that  was  shall  be  as  ye. 
Dust,  and  no  fruit  of  loving  life  shall  be. 

— She  shall  be  yet  who  is  more  than  all  these  were. 
Than  sister  or  wife  or  father  unto  us  or  mother. 

— Is  this  worth  life,  is  this,  to  win  for  wages  ? 
Lo,  the  dead  mouths  of  the  awful  gray-grown  ages. 
The  venerable,  in  the  past  that  is  their  prison, 
In  the  outer  darkness,  in  the   unopening  grave. 
Laugh,  knowing  how  many  as  ye  now  say  have  said, 
How  many,  and  all  are  fallen,  are  fallen  and  dead  : 
Shall  ye  dead  rise,  and  these  dead  have  not  risen  ? 
— Not  we  but  she,  who  is  tender,  and  swift  to  save. 

— Are  ye  not  weary  and  faint  not  by  the  way. 
Seeing  night  by  night  devoured  of  day  by  day. 
Seeing  hour  by  hour  consumed  in  sleepless  fire  ? 
Sleepless  ;  and  ye  too,  when  shall  ye  too  sleep  ? 
— We  are  weary  in  heart  and  head,  in  hands  and  feet. 
And  surely  more  than  all  things  sleep  were  sweet, — 
Than  all  things  save  the  inexorable  desire 

Which  whoso  knoweth  shall  neither  faint  nor 
•weep. 

— Is  this  so  sweet  that  one  were  fain  to  follow  ? 
Is  this  so  sure  where  all  men's  hopes  are  hollow. 
Even  this  your  dream,  that  by  much  tribulation 
Ye  shall  make  whole  flawed  hearts,   and  bowed 
necks  straight  ? 
—Nay,  though  our  life  were  blind,  our  death  were 

fruitless. 
Not  therefore    were    the  whole  world's   high    hope 
rootless  ; 
But  man  to  man,  nation  would  turn  to  nation, 
And  the  old  life  live,  and  the  old  great  world  bg 
great, 


THE  LITANY  OF  NATIONS.  197 

— Pass  on,  then,  and  pass  by  us,  and  let  us  be. 
For  what  light  think  ye  after  life  to  see  ? 
And  if  the  world  fare  better  will  ye  know  ? 

And  if  man  triumpli  who  shall  seek  you  and  say  ? 
— Enough  of  light  is  this  for  one  life's  span. 
That  all  men  born  are  mortal,  but  not  man  ; 
And  we  men  bring  death  lives  by  night  to  sow. 
That  man  may  reap  and  eat  and  live  by  day. 


THE  LITANY  OF  NATIONS. 

CHORUS. 

If  with  voice  of  words  or  prayers  thy  sons  may  reach 
thee, 
"We  thy  latter  sons,  the  men  thine  after-birth. 
We  the  children  of  thy  gray-grown  age,  0  Earth, 
0  our  mother  everlasting,  we  beseech  thee. 
By  the  sealed  and  secret  ages  of  thy  life  ; 

By  the  darkness  wherein  grew  thy  sacred  forces  ; 

By  the  songs  of  stars  thy  sisters  in  their  courses  ; 

By  thine  own  song  hoarse  and  hollow  and  shrill  with 

strife  ; 
By  thy  voice  distuned  and  marred  of  modulation  ; 
By  the  discord  of  thy  measure's  march  with  theirs  ; 
By  the  beauties  of  thy  bosom,  and  the  cares  ; 
By  thy  glory  of  growth,  and  splendor  of  thy  station  ; 
By  the  shame  of  men  thy  children,  and  the  pride  ; 
By  the  pale-cheeked  liope  that  sleeps  and  weeps  and 
passes, 
As  the  gray  dew  from  the  morning  mountain  grasses  ; 
By  the  white-lipped  siglitless  memories  that  abide  ; 
By  the  silence  and  the  sound  of  many  sorrows  ; 
By  the  joys  that  leapt  up  living  and  fell  dead  ; 
By  the  veil  that  hides  thy  hands  and  breasts  and 
head, 
Wrought  of  divers-colored  days  and  nights  and  mor- 
rows ; 
Isis,   thou  that  knowest   of  God   what   worlds  are 
worth, 


198  THE  LITANY  OF  NATIONS. 

Thou  the  ghost  of  God,  the  mother  uncreated. 
Soul  for  whom  the  flouting  forceless  ages  waited 
As  our  forceless  fancies  wait  on  thee,  0  Earth  ; 
Thou  the  body  and  soul,  the  father-god  and  mother, 
If  at  all  it  move  thee,  knowing  of  all  things  done 
Here  where  evil  things  and  good  things  are  not 
one, 
But  their  faces  are  as  fire  against  each  other  ; 
By  thy  morning  and  thine  evening,  night  and  day  ; 
By  the  first  white  light  that  stirs  and  strives  and 

hovers 
As  a  bird  above  the  brood  her  bosom  covers, 
By  the  sweet  last  star  that  takes  the  westward  way  ; 
By  the  night  whose  feet  are  shod  with   snow  or  thun- 
der, 
Fledged  with  plumes  of  storm,  or  soundless  as  the 

dew  ; 
By  the  vesture  bound  of  many-folded  blue 
Bound  her   breathless  breasts,  and  all    the  woven 

wonder  ; 
By  the  golden-growing  eastern  stream  otsea  ; 

By  the  sounds  of  sunrise  moving  in  the  mountains  ; 
By  the  forces  of  the  floods  and  unsealed  fountains  ; 
Thou  that  badest  man  be  born,  bid  man  be  free. 


GREECE. 

I  am  she  that  made  thee  lovely  with  my  beauty 

From  north  to  south  : 
Mine,  the  fairest  lips,  took  first  the  fire  of  duty 

From  thine  own  mouth. 
Mine,  the  fairest  eyes,    sought  first  thy  laws,    and 
knew  them 

Truths  undefiled  ; 
Mine,  the    fairest    hands,    took   freedom  first   into 
them, 

A  weanling  child. 
By  my  light,  now  he  lies  sleeping,  seen  above  him 

AVhere  none  sees  other  ; 
By  my  dead  that  loved,  and  living  men  that  love 
him, — 

(Cho.)  Hear  us,  0  mother  I 


THE  LITANY  OF  NATIONS.  199 

ITALY. 

I  am  she  that  was  the  light  of  thee  enkindled 

When  Greece  grew  dim  ; 
She  whose  life  grew  up  with  man's  free   life,    and 
dwindled 

With  wane  of  him  ; 
She  that  once  by  sword  and  once  by  word  imjierial 

Struck  bright  thy  gloom  ; 
And  a  third  time,  casting  off  these  years  funereal. 

Shall  burst  thy  tomb. 
By  that  bond  'twixt  thee  and   me  whereat  affrighted 

Thy  tyrants  fear  us  ; 
By  that  hope  and  this  remembrance  reunited, — 

{Cho.)  0  mother,  hear  us  ! 

SPAIN". 

I  am  she  that  set  thy  seal  upon  the  nameless 

West  worlds  of  seas  ; 
And  my  sons  as  brides  took  unto  them  the  tameless 

Hesperides  ; 
Till   my  sins    and    sons  through  sinless  lands   dis- 
persed, 

With  red  flame  shod, 
Made  accurst  the  name  of  man,  and  thrice  accursed 

The  name  of  God. 
Lest  for  those  past  fires  the  fires  of  my  repentance 

Hell's  fume  yet  smother. 
Now  my    blood   would    buy    remission   of   my   sen- 
tence,— 

(Cho.)  Hear  us,  0  mother  ! 

FRANCE. 

I  am  she  that  was  thy  sign  and  standard-])earer. 

Thy  voice  and  cry  ; 
She  that  washed  thee  with  her  blood,  and  left  thee 
fairer, 
The  same  was  I. 
Were  not  tliese  the  haiuls  that  raised  thee  fallen,  and 
fed  thee, 
These  hands  defiled  ? 


200  THE  LTTANY  OF  NATIONS, 

Was  not  I  thy  tongue  that  spake,  thine  eye  that  led 
thee, — 
Not  1  thy  child  ? 
By  the  darkness  on  our  dreams,  and  the  dead  errors 

Of  dead  times  near  us  ; 
By  the  hopes  that  hang  around   thee,  and  the  ter- 
rors,— 
[Cho.)  0  mother,  hear  us  ! 

RUSSIA. 

I  am  she   whose  hands   are   strong,    and   her   eyes 
blinded, 

And  lips  athirst, 
Till  npon  the  night  of  nations  many-minded 

One  bright  day  burst  ; 
Till  the  myi'iad  stars  be  molten  into  one  light. 

And  that  light  thine  ; 
Till  the  soul  of  man  be  parcel  of  the  sunlight, 

And  thine  of  mine. 
By  the  snows  that  blanch  not  him,  nor  cleanse  from 
slaughter. 

Who  slays  his  brother  ; 
By  the  stains  and  by  the  chains  on  me  thy  daugh- 
ter,— 

(Cho.)  Hear  us,  0  mother  ! 

SWITZERLAND. 

I  am  she  that  shows  on  mighty  limbs  and  maiden 

Nor  chain  nor  stain  ; 
For  what  blood  can  touch  these  hands  with  gold  un- 
laden. 

These  feet  what  chain  ? 
By  the  surf  of  spears  one  shieldless  bosom  breasted. 

And  was  my  shield, 
Till  the  plume-plucked  Austrian  vulture-heads  twin- 
crested 

Twice  drenched  the  field. 
By  the  snows  and  souls  untrampled  and  untroubled 

That  shine  to  cheer  ns, 
Light  of  those  to  these  responsive  and  redouljled. — 

(Cho.)  0  mother,  hear  us  ! 


THE  LITANY  OF  NATIONS.  201 

GERMANY. 

I  am  she  beside  whose  forest-hidden  fountains 

Slept  freedom  armed  ; 
By  the  magic  born  to  music  in  my  mountains, 

Heart-chained  and  charmed. 
By  those  days,  the  very  dream  whereof  delivers 

My  soul  from  wrong  ; 
By  the  sounds  that  make  of  all  my  ringing  rivers 

None  knows  what  song  ; 
By  the  many  tribes  and  names  of  my  division 

One  from  another  ; 
By  the  single  eye  of  sun-compelling  vision, — 

{Clio.)  Hear  us,  0  mother  ! 

ENGLAND. 

I  am  she  that  was  and  was  not  of  thy  chosen. 

Free,  and  not  free  ; 
She  that  fed  thy  springs,   till  now  her  springs  are 
frozen  ; 

Yet  I  am  she. 
By  the  sea  that  clothed  and  sun  that  saw  me  splen- 
did 

And  fame  that  crowned, 
By   the   song-fires   and  the   sword-fires   mixed   and 
blended 

That  robed  me  round  ; 
By  the  star  that  Milton's  soul  for  Shelley's  lighted. 

Whose  rays  iusphere  us  ; 
By  the  beacon-bright  Republic  far-off  sighted, — 

{Clio.)  0  motlier,  hear  us  ! 

CHORUS. 

Turn  away  from   us  the  cross-blown  blasts  of  error. 

That  drown  each  other  ; 
Turn  away  the  fearful  cry,  the  loud-tongued  terror, 

0  Earth,  0  mother  ! 
Turn  away  their  eyes  who  track,  their  hearts  who  fol- 
low. 

The  pathless  past  ; 
Show  the  soul  of  man,  as  summer  shows  the  swallow, 

The  wav  at  last. 


202  CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES, 

By  the  sloth  of  men  that  all  too  long  endure  men 

On  man  to  tread  ; 
By  the  cry  of  men,  tlie  bitter  cry  of  poor  men 

That  faint  for  bread  ; 
By  the  blood-sweat  of  the  people  in  the  garden 

Inwalled  of  kings  ; 
By  his  passion  interceding  for  their  pardon 

Who  do  these  things  ; 
By  the  sightless  souls  and  fleshless  limbs  that  labor 

For  not  their  fruit  ; 
By  the  foodless  mouth  with  foodless  heart  for  neigh- 
bor. 

That,  mad,  is  mute  ; 
By  the  child  that  famine  eats  as  worms  the  blossom — 

Ah  God,  the  child  !  — 
By  the  milkless  lips  that  strain  the  bloodless  bosom 

Till  woe  runs  wild  ; 
By  the  pastures  that  give  grass  to  feed  the  lamb  in, 

Where  men  lack  meat  ; 
By  thfc  cities  clad  with  gold  and  shame  and  famine  ; 

By  field  and   street  ; 
By  the  people,  by  the  poor  man,  by  the  master 

That  men  call  slave  ; 
By  the  cross-winds  of  defeat  and  of  disaster. 

By  wreck,  by  wave  ; 
By  the  helm  that  keeps  us  still  to  sunwards  driving, 

Still  eastward  bound, 
Till,  as  night-watch  ends,  day  burn  on  eyes  reviving. 

And  land  be  found  : 
W^e  thy  children,  that  arraign  not  nor  impeach  thee 

Though  no  stars  steer  us, 
By  the  waves  that  wash  the  morning  we  beseech  thee, 

0  mother,  hear  us  ! 

CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES. 
I. 

IN    CHURCH. 

Thou  whose  birth  on  earth 

Angels  sang  to  men, 
While  thy  stars  made  mirth. 
Saviour,  at  thy  birth. 

This  day  born  again  ; 


CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES.  20S 

As  this  night  was  bright 

With  tliy  cradle-ray, 
Very  light  of  light. 
Turn  the  wild  world's  night 

To  thy  perfect  day. 

God  whose  feet  made  sweet 

Those  wild  ways  they  trod. 
From  thy  fragrant  feet 
Staining  field  and  street 

With  the  blood  of  God  ; 

God  whose  breast  is  rest 

In  the  time  of  strife. 
In  thy  secret  breast 
Sheltering  souls  opprest 

From  the  heat  of  life  ; 

God  whose  eyes  are  skies 

Love-lit  as  with  spheres 
By  the  lights  that  rise 
To  thy  watching  eyes, 

Orbed  lights  of  tears  ; 

God  whose  heart  hath  part 

In  all  grief  that  is. 
Was  not  man's  the  dart 
That  went  through  thine  heart. 

And  the  wound  not  his  ? 


Where  the  pale  souls  wail, 
Held  in  bonds  of  death. 
Where  all  spirits  quail, 
Came  thy  Godhead  pale 
Still  from  human  breath, — 

Pale  from  life  and  strife. 

Wan  with  manhood,  came 
Forth  of  mortal  life. 
Pierced  as  with  a  knife. 
Scarred  as  with  a  flame. 


204  CHEISTMAS  ANTIPHONES. 

Thou  the  "Word  and  Lord 

111  all  time  and  space 
Heard,  beheld,  adored. 
With  all  ages  poured 
Forth  before  thy  face, — 

Lord,  what  worth  in  earth 
Drew  thee  down  to  die  ? 
What  therein  was  worth. 
Lord,  thy  death  and  birth  ? 
What  beneath  thy  sky  ? 

Light  above  all  love 

By  thy  love  was  lit, 
And  brought  down  the  Dove 
Feathered  from  above 
With  the  wings  of  it. 

From  the  height  of  night. 

Was  not  thine  the  star 
That  led  forth  with  might 
By  no  worldly  light 
Wise  men  from  afar  ? 

Yet  the  wise  men's  eyes 

Saw  thee  not  more  clear 
Than  they  saw  thee  rise 
Who  in  shepherds'  guise 
Drew  as  poor  men  near. 

Yet  thy  poor  endure 

And  are  with  us  yet ; 
Be  thy  name  a  sure 
Eefuge  for  thy  poor 

Whom  men's  eyes  forget. 

Thou  whose  ways  we  praise, 

Clear  alike  and  dark, 
Keep  our  works  and  ways 
This  and  all  thy  days 
Safe  inside  thine  ark. 


CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES.  205 

Who  shall  keep  thy  sheep, 

Lord,  and  lose  not  one  ? 
Who  save  one  shall  keep. 
Lest  the  shepherds  sleep  ? 

Who  beside  the  Sou  ? 

From  the  grave-deep  wave. 

From  the  sword  and  flame. 
Thou,  even  thou,  shalt  save 
Souls  of  king  and  slave 

Only  by  thy  Name. 

Light  not  born  with  morn 

Or  her  fires  above, 
Jesus  virgin-born, 
Held  of  men  in  scorn, 

Turn  their  scorn  to  love. 

Thou  whose  face  gives  grace 

As  the  sun's  doth  heat, 
Let  thy  sun-bright  face 
Lighten  time  and  space 

Here  beneath  thy  feet. 

Bid  our  peace  increase. 

Thou  that  madest  morn  ; 
Bid  oppressions  cease  ; 
Bid  the  night  be  peace  ; 

Bid  the  day  be  born. 

IL 

OUTSIDE  CHUECH. 

We  whose  days  and  ways 

All  the  night  makes  dark, — 
What  day  shall  we  praise 
Of  these  weary  days 

That  our  life- drops  mark  ? 

We  whose  mind  is  blind, 

Fed  with  hope  of  naught  ; 
Wastes  of  worn  mankind. 
Without  heart  or  mind. 

Without  meat  or  thought ; 


^06  CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES. 

We  with  strife  of  life 

Worn  till  all  life  cease, 
Want,  a  whetted  knife. 
Sharpening  strife  on  strife. 
How  should  we  love  peace  ? 

Ye  whose  meat  is  sweet 

And  your  wine-cup  red. 
Us  beneath  your  feet 
Hunger  grinds  as  wheat, — 
Grinds  to  make  you  bread. 

Ye  whose  night  is  bright 
With  soft  rest  and  heat, 

Clothed  like  day  with  light. 

Us  the  naked  night 

Slays  from  street  to  street. 

Hath  your  God  no  rod, 

That  ye  tread  so  light  ? 
Man  on  us  as  God, 
God  as  man  hath  trod, — 
Trod  ns  down  with  might. 

We  that  one  by  one 

Bleed  from  cither's  rod. 
What  for  ns  hath  done 
Man  beneath  the  sun, 
What  for  us  hath  God  ? 

We  whose  blood  is  food 

Given  your  wealth  to  feed. 
From  the  Christless  rood 
Red  with  no  God's  blood. 
But  with  man's  indeed  ; 

How  shall  we  that  see 
Night-long  overhead 
Life,  the  flowerless  tree. 
Nailed  whereon  as  we 
Were  our  fathers  dead, — 


CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES.  207 

We  whose  ear  can  hear, 
Not  whose  tongue  can  name. 

Famine,  ignorance,  fear. 

Bleeding  tear  by  tear 
Year  by  year  of  shame, — 

Till  the  dry  life  die 

Out  of  bloodless  breast, 
Out  of  beamless  eye. 
Out  of  mouths  that  cry 

Till  death  feed  with  rest, — 

How  shall  we  as  ye. 

Though  ye  bid  us,  pray  ? 
Though  ye  call,  can  we 
Hear  you  call,  or  see. 

Though  ye  show  us  day  ? 

We  whose  name  is  shame, 

We  whose  souls  walk  bare. 
Shall  we  call  tlie  same 
God  as  ye  by  name, 

Teach  our  lips  your  prayer  ? — 

God,  forgive  and  give, 

For  His  sake  who  died  ? — 
Nay,  for  ours  who  live. 
How  shall  we  forgive 

Thee,  then,  on  our  side  ? 

We  whose  right  to  light 

Heaven's  liigii  noon  denies. 
Whom  the  blind  beams  smite 
That  for  you  shine  bright. 

And  but  burn  our  eyes, — 

With  what  dreams  of  beams 

Shall  we  build  up  day. 
At  wliat  sourceless  streams 
Seek  to  drink  in  dreams 

Ere  they  pass  away  ? 


208  CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES. 

In  what  street  sliall  meet, 

At  Avhat  market-place, 
Your  feet  and  our  feet. 
With  one  goal  to  greet, 
Having  run  one  race  ? 

What  one  hope  shall  ope 

For  us  all  as  one 
One  same  horoscope. 
Where  the  soul  sees  hope 

That  outburns  the  sun  ? 

At  what  shrine  what  wine, 

At  what  board  what  bread. 
Salt  as  blood  or  brine. 
Shall  we  share  in  sign 
How  we  poor  were  fed  ? 

In  what  hour  what  power 
Shall  we  pray  for  morn. 
If  your  perfect  hour, 
When  all  day  bears  flower. 
Not  for  us  is  born  ? 

III. 

BEYOND  CHUKCH. 

Ye  that  weep  in  sleep. 

Souls  and  bodies  bound, 
Ye  that  all  night  keep 
Watch  for  change,  and  weep 
That  no  change  is  found  ; 

Ye  that  cry  and  die. 

And  the  world  goes  on 
Without  ear  or  eye, 
And  the  days  go  by 
Till  all  days  are  gone  : 

Man  shall  do  for  you. 

Men  the  sons  of  man. 
What  no  god  would  do 
That  they  sought  unto 
While  the  blind  years  ran. 


CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES.  209 

Brotherhood  of  good. 

Equal  laws  and  rights, 
Freedom,  whose  sweet  food 
Feeds  the  multitude 

All  their  days  and  nights 

With  the  bread  full-fed 

Of  her  body  blest 
And  the  sonl's  wine  shed 
From  her  table  spread 

Where  the  world  is  guest, — 

Mingling  me  and  thee. 

When  like  light  of  eyes 
Flashed  through  thee  and  me 
Truth  shall  make  us  free. 

Liberty  make  wise  : 

These  are  they  whom  day 

Follows  and  gives  light 
Whence  they  see  to  slay 
Night,  and  burn  away 

All  the  seed  of  night. 

What  of  thine  and  mine. 

What  of  want  and  wealth, 
AVhen  one  faith   is  wine 
For  my  heart  and  thine, 

And  one  draught  is  health  i* 

For  no  sect  elect 

Is  the  soul's  wine  poured, 
And  her  table  decked  : 
Whom  should  man  reject 

From  man's  common  board  ? 

Gods  refuse  and  choose. 

Grudge  aiul  sell  and  spare  : 
None  shall  man  refuse. 
None  of  all  men  lose, 
None  leave  out  of  care, 
14 


210  CHRISTMAS  ANTIPHONES. 

No  mail's  might  of  sight 

Knows  that  hour  before  ; 
No  mail's  hand  hath  might 
To  put  back  that  light 
For  one  hour  the  more. 


Not  though  all   men  call, 
Kneeling  with  void  hands, 

Shall  they  see  light  fall 

Till  it  come   for  all 

Tribes  of  men  and  lands. 

No  desire  brings  fire 

Down  from  heaven  b}^  prayer, 
Tnough  man's  vain  desire 
Hang  faith's  wind-struck  lyre 

Out  in  tuneless  air. 

One  hath  breath,  and  saith 
"What  the  tune  shall  be, — 

Time,  who  puts  his  breath 

Into   life  and  death, 
Into  earth  and  sea. 

To  and  fro  years  How, 
Fill  their  tides  and  ebb. 

As  his  fingers  go 

Weaving  to  and  fro 
One  unfinished  web. 

All  the  range  of  change 
Hath  its  bounds  therein. 
All  the  lives  that  range 

All  the  byways  strange 
Named  of  death  or  sin. 

Star  from  far  to  star 

Speaks,  and  white  moons  wake, 
Watchful  from  afar 
AVhat  tlie  night's  ways  are 

For  the  morning's  sake. 


MATER  DOLOROSA.  211 

Many  names  and  flames 

Pass  and  flasli  and  fall. 
Night-begotten  names, 
And  the  night  reclaims. 

As  she  bare  them,  alL 

But  the  sun  is  one. 

And  the  sun's  name  Right; 
And  when  light  is  none 
Saving  of  the  sun. 

All  men  shall  have  light. 

All  shall  see  and  be 

Parcel  of  the  morn  : 
Ay,  though  blind  were  we. 
None  shall  choose  but  see 

When  that  day  is  born. 


MATER  DOLOROSA. 

Citoyen,  lui  dit  Enjolras,  niameie  c'est  la  Republique. — 
Les  Miserables.  ^j^ 

Who  is  it  that  sits  by  the  way,  by  the  wild  waysiile. 
In  a  rent  stained    raiment,    the   robe  of   a  cast-off 

bride. 
In  the  dust,  in  the  rainfall  sitting,  with  soiled  feet 

bare, 
With  the  night  for  a  garment  upon  her,  Avith  torn  wet 

hair  ? 
She  is  fairer  of  face  than  the  daughters  of  men,  and 

her  eyes. 
Worn  through  with  her  tears,  are  deep  as  the  depth 

of  skies. 

This  is  she  for  whose  sake  being  fallen,   for  whose 

abject  sake, 
Earth  groans  in  the  blackness  of  darkness,  and  men's 

hearts  break. 
This  is  she  for  whose  love,  having  seen  her,  the  men 

that  were 
Poured  life  out  as  water,  and  shed  their  souls  upon 

»ir, 


212  MATER  DOLOROSA. 

This  is  she  for  whose  glory  their  years  were  counted 

as  foam  ; 
Whose  face  was  a  liglit  upon  Greece,  was  a  fire  uj^on 

Konie. 

It  is  now  not  surely  a  vain  thing,  a  foolish  and  vain, 
To  sit  down  by  her,  mourn  to  her,  serve  her,  partake 

in  the  pain  ? 
She  is  gi"ay  with  the  dust  of  time  on  his  manifold 

Avays, 
Where  her  faint  feet   stumble   and  falter  through 

yearlong  days. 
Shall  she  help  us  at  all,  0   fools,  give  fruit  or  give 

fame, 
Who  herself  is  a  name  despised,  a  rejected  name  ? 

We  have  not  served  her  for  guerdon.     If  any  do  so, 
That  his  mouth  may  be  sweet  with  such   honey,  we 

care  not  to  know. 
We  have  drunk  from  a  wine-unsweetened,  a  perilous 

cup, 
A  draught    very   bitter.     The   kings   of   the    earth 

stood  up, 
And  the  rulers  took  counsel  together,  to  smite  her 

and  slay  ; 
And  the  blood  of  her  wounds  is  given  us  to  drink 

to-day. 

Can  these  bones  live  ?  or  the  leaves  that  are  dead 

leaves  bud  ? 
Or  the  dead  blood  drawn  from  her  veins  be  in  your 

veins  blood  ? 
Will  ye  gather  up  water  again  that  was  drawn  and 

shed  ? 
In  the  blood  is  the  life  of  the  veins,  and   her  veins 

are  dead. 
For  the  lives  that  are  over  are  over,  and  jiast  things 

past ; 
She  had  her  day,  and  it  is  not  ;  was  first,  and  is  last. 

Is  it  nothing  unto  you,  then,  all  ye  that  pass  by. 
If  her  breath  be  left  in  her  lips,  if  she  live  now  or  die  ? 


MATER  DOLOROSA.  213 

Behold  now  0  i)coi:»le,  and  suy  if  she  bo  not  fair, 
Whom  your  fathers  followed  to  find  her,  with  praise 

and  jDrayer, 
And  rejoiced,  having  found  her,  though  roof  they 

had  none,  nor  bread. 
But  ye  care  not:  what  is*  it  to  you  if   her  day  be 

dead  ? 


It  was  well  with  our  fathers  ;  their  sound  was  in  all 
men's  lands  ; 

There  was  fire  in  their  hearts,  and  the  hunger  of 
fight  in  their  hands. 

Naked  and  strong  they  went  forth  in  her  strength 
like  flame, 

For  her  love's  and  her  name's  sake  of  old,  her  re- 
publican name. 

But  their  children,  by  kings  made  quiet,  by  priests 
made  wise, 

Love  better  the  heat  of  their  hearths  than  the  light 
of  her  eyes. 

Are  they  children  of  these  thy  children  indeed,  who 

have  sold, 
0  golden  goddess,  the  light  of  thy  face  for  gold  ? 
Are  thy  sons  indeed  of  the  sons  of  thy  dayspring  of 

hope, 
Whose  lives  are  in  fief  of  an  emperor,  whose  souls 

of  a  Pope  ? 
Hide  then  thine  head,  0  beloved  !  thy  time  is  done  ; 
Thy  kingdom  is  broken  in  heaven,  and  blind  thy  sun. 

What  sleep  is  upon  you,  to  dream  she  indeed  shall 

rise, 
When  the  hopes  are  dead  in  her  heart  as  the  tears 

in  her  eyes  ? 
If  ye  sing  of  her  dead,  will   she  stir  ?  if  ye  weep  for 

her,  wee])  ? 
Come  away  now,  leave  her  :  what   hath  she  to   do 

but  sleep  ? 
But  ye  that  mourn  are  alive,  and  have  years  to  be  ; 
And  life  is  good,  and  the  Avorld  is  wiser  than  we. 


214  MATER  TRIUMPHALIS. 

Yea,  wise  is  the  world  and  mighty,  with  years  to 

give, 
And  years  to  promise  ;  but  how  long   now   ^hall  it 

live  ? 
And  foolish  and  poor  is  faith,  and  her  ways  are  bare, 
Till  she  find  the  way  of  the  sun,  and  the  morning  air. 
In  that  hour  shall  this  dead  face  shine  as  the  face  of 

the  sun, 
And  the  soul  of  man  and  her  soul  and  the  world's 

be  one. 


MATER  TEIUMPHALIS. 

Mother  of  man's  time-travelling  generations. 
Breath  of  his  nostrils,  heart-blood  of  his  heart, 

God  above  all  gods,  worsliipped  of  all  nations. 
Light  above  light,  law  beyond  law,  thou  art. 

Thy  face  is  as  a  sword,  smiting  in  sunder 

Shadows  and  chains,  and  dreams  and  iron  things  ; 

The  sea  is  dumb  before  thy  face,  the  thunder 
Silent,  the  skies  are  narrower  than  thy  wings. 

Angels  and  gods,  spirit  and  sense,  thou  takest 
In  thy  right  hand  as  drops  of  dust  or  dew  ; 

The  temples  and  the  towers  of  time  thou  breakest. 
His  thoughts  and  words  and  works,  to  make  them 
new. 

All  we  have  wandered  from  thy  ways,  have  hidden 
Eyes   from   thy   glory  and   ears   from  calls   they 
heard  ; 

Called  of  thy  trumpets  vainly,  called  and  chidden. 
Scourged  of  thy  speech,  and  wounded  of  thy  word. 

We   have    known    thee,  and  have  not  known  thee  ; 
stood  beside  thee, 
Eelt  thy  lips  breathe,  set  foot  where  thy  feet  trod. 
Loved  and   renounced,  and  worshijiped  and  denied 
thee, 
As  though  thou  wert  but  as  another  god. 


MATER  TRIUMPH ALIS.  215 

"  One  hour  for  sleep,"  we  said,  "  uiid  yet  one  otlier  ; 
All  day  we   served    her,  and  who  shall  serve   by 
night  ?  " 
Not   knowing   of   thee,    thy   face   not   knowing,  0 
mother, 
0  light  wheretiirough  the  darkness  is  as  light. 

Men  that  forsook  thee  hast  thou  not  forsaken. 
Races  of  men  that  knew  not  hast  thou  knoAvn  ; 

Nations  that  slept  thou  hast  doubted  not  to  waken. 
Worshippers  of  strange  gods  to  make  tliine  own. 

All  old  gray  histories  hiding  thy  clear  features, 
0  secret  spirit  and  sovereign,  all  men's  tales, 

Creeds  woven  of  men,  thy  children  and  thy  creatures, 
They  have  Avoven  for  vestures  of  thee  and  for  veils. 

Thine  hands,  without  election  or  exemption, 

Feed  all  men  fainting  from  false  jjeace  or  strife, 

0  thou,  the  resurrection  and  redemption, 
The  godhead  and  the  manhood  and  the  life. 

Thy  wings  shadow  the  waters  ;  thine  eyes  lighten 
The  horror  of  the  hollows  of  the  night  ; 

The  depths  of  the  earth  and  tlie  dark  places  brighten 
Under  thy  feet,  whiter  than  fire  is  white. 

Death  is  subdued  to  thee,  and  hell's  bands  broken  ; 
"Where  thou  art  only   is  heaven  :  who  hears  not 
thee. 
Time   shall  not  hear  him  ;   when  men's  names  are 

spoken, 
A  nameless  sign  of  death  shall  his  name  be. 

Deathless  shall  be  the  death,  the  name  be  nameless ; 

Sterile  of  stars  his  twilight  time  of  breath  ; 
With  fire  of  hell  shall  shame  consume  him  shame- 
less, 

And  dying,  all  the  night  darken  his  death. 

The  years  are  as  thy  garments,  the  world's  ages 
As  sandals  bound  and  loosed  from  thy  swift  feet ; 

Time  serves  before  thee,  as  one  that  hath  for  wages 
Praise  or  shame  only,  bitter  words  or  sweet. 


216  MATER  TRIUMPH ALIS. 

Thou  sayest  "  Well  done/'  and  all  a  century  kindles  ; 

Again,  thou  sayest,  "  Depart  from  sight  of  me," 
And  all  the  light  of  face  of  all  men  dwindles, 

And  the  age  is  as  the  broken  glass  of  thee. 

The  night  is  as  a  seal  set  on  men's  faces, 
On  faces  fallen  of  men  that  take  no  light. 

Nor  give  light  in  the  deeps  of  the  dark  places, 
Blind  things,  incorporate  with  the  body  of  night. 

Their  souls  are  serpents  winter-bound  and  frozen, 
Their  shame  is  as  a  tame  beast,  at  their  feet 

Couched  ;  their  cold  lips  deride  thee  and  thy  chosen. 
Their  lying  lips  made  gray  with  dust  for  meat. 

Then  when  their  time  is  full  and  days  run  over, 
The  splendor  of  thy  sudden  brow  made  bare 

Darkens  the  morning  ;  thy  bared  hands  uncover 
The  veils  of  light  and  night  and  the  awful  air. 

And  the  world  naked  as  a  ]icw-born  maiden 
Stands  virginal  and  splendid  as  at  birth, 

With  all  thine  heaven  of  all  its  light  unladen. 
Of  all  its  love  unburdened  all  thine  earth. 

For  the  utter  earth  and  the  utter  air  of  heaven, 
And  the  extreme  depth  is  thine,  and  the  extreme 
height  ; 

Shadows  of  things  and  veils  of  ages  riven 

Are  as  men's  kings  unkingdomed  in  thy  sight. 

Through  the  iron  years,  the  centuries  brazen-gated. 
By  the  ages'  barred,  impenetrable  doors, 

From  the  evening  to  the  morning  have  we  waited. 
Should  thy  foot  haply  sound  on  the  awful  floors. 

The  floors  untroddeii  of  the  sun's  feet  glimmer. 
The  star-unstricken  pavements  of  the  night  ; 

Do  the  lights  burn  inside  ?  the  lights  wax  dimmer 
On  festal  faces  Avithering  out  of  sight. 

The  crowned  heads  lose  the  light  on  them  ;  it  may  be 
Dawn  is  at  hand  to  smite  the  lond  feast  dumb  ; 

To  bind  the  torch-lit  centuries  till  the  day  be, 
The  feasting  kingdoms  till  thy  kingdom  come. 


MATER  TRIUMPH ALIS.  217 

Shall  it  not  come  ?  deny  they  or  dissemble, 
Is  it  not  even  as  lightning  from  on  high 

Now  ?   and  thongh    many   a   soul    close    eyes,    and 
tremble, 
How  should  they  tremble  at  all  who  love  thee  as  I? 

I  am  thine  harp  between  thine  hands,  0  mother  ! 

All  my  strong  chords  are  strained  with  love  of  thee. 
We  grapple  in  love  and  wrestle,  as  each  with  other 

Wrestle  the  wind  and  the  unreluctant  sea. 

1  am  no  courtier  of  thee  sober-snited, 

Who  loves  a  little  for  a  little  pay. 
Me  not  thy  winds  and  storms,  nor  thrones  disrooted, 

Nor  molten  crowns,  nor  thine  own  sins,  dismay. 

Sinned  hast  thou  sometime,  therefore  art  thou  sin- 
less ; 
Stained  hast  thou  been,  who  art  therefore  without 
stain  ; 
Even  as  man's  soul  is  kin  to  thee,  but  kinless 

Thou,  in  whose  womb  Time  sows  the  all-various 
grain. 

I  do  not  bid  thee  spare  me,  0  dreadful  mother  ! 

I  pray  thee  that  thou  spare  not,  of  thy  grace. 
How  were  it  with  me  then,  if  ever  another 

Should  come  to  stand  before  thee  in  this  my  place? 

I  am  the  trumpet  at  thy  lips,  thy  clarion. 
Full  of  thy  cry,  sonorous  with  thy  breath  ; 

The  graves  of  souls  born  worms,  and   creeds  grown 
carrion 
Thy  blast  of  judgment  fills  with  fires  of  death. 

Thou  art  the  player  whose  organ-keys  are  thunders, 
And  I,  beneath  thy  foot,  the  pedal  prest  ; 

Thou  art  the  ray  whereat  the  rent  night  sunders. 
And  I  the  cloudlet  borne  upon  thy  breast. 

I  shall  burn  up  before  thee,  pass  and  perish, 
As  haze  in  sunrise  on  the  red  sea-lino  ; 

But  thou  from  dawn  to  snnsettiiig  shalt  cherish 
The  thoughts  that  led  and  souls  tluit  liglited  mine. 


218  MATER  TRIUMPHALIS. 

Reared  between  night  and  noon  and  truth  and  error, 
Each  twilight-travelling  bird  that  trills  and  screams 

Sickens  at  midday,  nor  can  face  for  terror 
The  imperious  heaven's  inevitable  extremes. 

I  have  no  spirit  of  skill  with  equal  fingers 
At  sign  to  sharpen  or  to  slacken  strings  ; 

I  keep  no  time  of  song  with  gold-perched  singers 
And  chirp  of  linnets  on  the  wrists  of  kings. 

I  am  thy  storm-thrush  of  the  days  that  darken, 
Thy  petrel  in  the  foam  that  bears  thy  bai'k 

To  port  through  night  and  tempest  :  if  thou  hearken, 
My  voice  is  in  thy  heaven  before  the  lark. 

My  song  is  in  the  mist  that  hides  thy  morning, 
My  cry  is  up  before  the  day  for  thee  ; 

I  have  heard  thee  and  beheld  thee  and  give  warning. 
Before  thy  wheels  divide  the  sky  and  sea. 

Birds  shall  wake  with  thee   voiced    and  feathered 
fairer, 
To  see  in  summer  what  I  see  in  spring  : 
I  have  eyes  and  heart  to  endure  thee,  0  thunder- 
bearer, 
And  they  shall  be  who  shall  have  tongues  to  sing. 

I  have  love  at  least,  and  have  not  fear,  and  part  not 
From  thine  unnavigable  and  wingless  way  ; 

Thou  tarriest,  and  I  have  not  said  thou  art  not, 
Nor  all  thy  night  long  have  denied  thy  day. 

Darkness  to  daylight  shall  lift  up  thy  p^an, 
Hill  to  hill  thunder,  vale  cry  back  to  vale. 

With  wind-notes  as  of  eagles  ^Eschylean, 
And  Sappho  singing  in  the  nightingale. 

Sung  to  by  mighty  sons  of  dawn  and  daughters. 
Of  this  night's   songs  thine  ear   shall   keep  but 
one, — 
That    supreme    song    which    shook    the    channelled 
waters. 
And  called  thee  skyward  as  God  calls  the  sun. 


SIENA.  219 

Come,  though  all  heaven  again  be  fire  above  thee  ; 

Though  death  before  thee  come  to  clear  tliy  sky  ; 
Let  us  but  see  in  his  thy  face  who  love  tliee  ; 

Yea,  though  thou  slay  us,  arise,  Mid  let  us  die. 


SIENA. 

Inside  this  northern  summer's  fold 
The  fields  are  full  of  naked  gold, 
Broadcast  from  heaven  on  lands  it  loves  ; 
The  green  veiled  air  is  full  of  doves  ; 
Soft  leaves  that  sift  the  sunbeams  let 
Light  on  the  small  warm  grasses  wet 
Fall  in  short  broken  kisses  sweet, 
And  break  again  like  waves  that  beat 
Round  the  sun's  feet. 

But  I,  for  all  tliis  English  mirth 
Of  golden-shod  and  dancing  days, 

And  the  old  green-girt  sweet-hearted  earth. 
Desire  what  here  no  spells  can  raise. 

Far  hence,  with  holier  heavens  above, 

The  lovely  city  of  my  love 

Bathes  deep  in  the  sun-satiate  air 

That  flows  round  no  fair  thing  more  fair. 
Her  beauty  bare. 

There  the  utter  sky  is  holier,  there 
More  pure  the  intense  white  height  of  air, 
More  clear  men's  eyes  that  mine  would  meet. 
And  the  sweet  springs  of  things  more  sweet. 
There,  for  this  one  warm  note  of  doves 
A  clamor  of  a  thousand  loves 
Storms  the  night's  ear,  the  day's  assails, 
From  the  tempestuous  iiightingales. 
And  fills,  and  fails. 

0  gracious  city  well-beloved  ! 

Italian,  and  a  maiden  crowned, 
Siena,  my  feet  are  no  more  moved 

Toward  thy  strange-shapen  mountain-bound  ; 


220  SIENA. 

But  my  heart  in  me  turns  find  moves, 
0  lady  loveliest  of  my  loves. 
Toward  tliee,  to  lie  before  thy  feet, 
And  gaze  from  thy  fair  fountain-seat 
Up  the  sheer  street ; 

And  the  house  midway  hanging  see 
That  saw  Saint  Catherine  bodily, 
Felt  on  its  floors  her  sweet  feet  move. 
And  the  live  light  of  fiery  love 
Burn  from  her  beautiful  strange  face. 
As  in  the  sanguine  sacred  place 
Where  in  pure  liands  she  took  the  head 
Severed,  and  with  pure  lips  still  red 
Kissed  the  lips  dead. 

For  years  through,  sweetest  of  the  saints, 
In  quiet  witliout  cease  she  wrought, 

Till  cries  of  men  and  fierce  complaints 

From  outward  moved  her  maiden  thought ; 

And  prayers  she  heard  and  sighs  toward  France,- 

"  God,  send  us  back  deliverance. 

Send  back  thy  servants,  lest  we  die  ! " 

With  an  exceeding  bitter  cry 
They  smote  the  sky. 

Then  in  her  sacred  saving  hands 
She  took  the  sorrows  of  the  lands. 
With  maiden  palms  she  lifted  up 
The  sick  time's  blood-imbittered  cup. 
And  in  her  virgin  garment  furled 
The  faint  limbs  of  a  wounded  world. 
Clothed  with  calm  love  and  clear  desire. 
She  went  forth  in  her  soul's  attire, 
A  missive  fire. 

Across  the  might  of  men  that  strove 

It  shone,  and  over  heads  of  kings  ; 
And  molten  in  red  flames  of  love 

Were  swords  and  many  monstrous  things  ; 
And  shields  were  lowered,  and  snapt  were  spears, 
And  sweeter-tuned  the  clamorous  years  ; 
And  faith  came  back,  and  peace,  that  were 
Fled  ;  for  she  bade,  saying,  "Thou,  God's  heir, 
Hast  thou  no  care  ? 


SIENA.  221 

"  Lo,  men  lay  waste  thine  heritage 
Still,  and  much  heathen  people  rage 
Against  thee,  and  devise  vain  things. 
What  comfort  in  the  face  of  kings, 
What  counsel  is  there  ?     Turn  thine  eyes 
And  thine  heart  from  them  in  like  wise  ; 
Turn  thee  unto  thine  holy  place 
To  help  us  that  of  God  for  grace 
Require  thy  face. 

"  For  who  shall  hear  us  if  not  thou 

In  a  strange  land  ?  what  doest  thou  there  ? 

Thy   sheep  are  spoiled,  and  the  ploughers  plough 
Upon  us  :  why  hast  thou  no  care 

For  all  this,  and  beyond  strange  hills 

Liest  unregardful  what  snow  chills 

Thy  foldless  flock,  or  what  rains  beat  ? 

Lo,  in  thine  ears,  before  thy  feet. 
Thy  lost  sheep  bleat. 

"  And  strange  men  feed  on  faultless  lives, 
And  there  is  blood,  and  men  put  knives, 
Shepherd,  unto  the  young  lamb's  throat ; 
And  one  hath  eaten,  and  one  smote. 
And  one  had  hunger  and  is  fed 
Full  of  the  flesh  of  these,  and  red 
With  blood  of  these  as  who  drinks  wine. 
And  God  knoweth,  who  hath  sent  thee  a  sign. 
If  these  were  thine." 

But  the  Pope's  heart  within  him  burned, 

So  that  he  rose  up,  seeing  the  sign 
And  came  among  them  ;  but  she  turned 

Back  to  her  daily  way  divine, 
And  fed  her  faith  with  silent  things, 
And  lived  her  life  with  curbed  white  wings. 
And  mixed  herself  with  heaven,  and  died  ; 
And  now  on  the  sheer  city-side 
Smiles  like  a  bride. 

You  see  her  in  the  fresh  clear  gloom, 
Whei'e  walls  shut  out  the  flame  and  bloom 
Of  full-breathed  summer,  and  the  roof 
Keeps  the  keen  ardent  air  aloof 


222  SIENA. 

And  sweet  weight  of  the  violent  sky  : 
There  bodily  beheld  on  high, 
She  seems  :is  one  hearing  in  time 
H  .aven  within  heaven,  at  heaven's  full  noon. 
In  sacred  swoon, — 

A  solemn  swoon  of  sense  that  aches 

With  imminent  blind  heat  of  heaven. 
While  all  the  wide-eyed  spirit  wakes. 

Vigilant  of  the  supreme  Seven, 
Whose  choral  flumes  in  God's  sight  move. 
Made  unendurable  with  love, 
That  without  wind  or  blast  of  breath 
Compels  all  things,  through  life  and  death, 
Whither  God  saith. 

There  on  the  dim  side-chapel  wall 
Thy  mighty  touch  memorial, 
Eazzi,  raised  up,  for  ages  dead. 
And  fixed  for  us  her  heavenly  head  ; 
And,  rent  with  plaited  thorn  and  rod. 
Bared  the  live  likeness  of  her  God 
To  men's  eyes  turning  from  strange  lands. 
Where,  pale  from  thine  immortal  hands, 
Christ  wounded  stands  ; 

And  the  blood  blots  his  holy  hair 

And  white  brows  over  hungering  eyes 
That  plead  against  us,  and  the  fair 

Mute  lips  forlorn  of  words  or  sighs 
In  the  great  torment  that  bends  down 
His  bruised  head  with  the  bloomless  crown. 
White  as  the  unfruitful  thorn-flower, — 
A  God  beheld  in  dreams  that  were 
Beheld  of  her. 

In  vain  on  all  these  sins  and  years 
Falls  the  sad  blood,  fall  the  slow  tears, — 
In  vain  poured  forth  as  water-springs. 
Priests,  on  your  altars,  and  ye,  kings. 
About  your  seats  of  sanguine  gold  : 
Still  your  God,  spat  upon  and  sold, 
Bleeds  at  your  hands  ;  but  now  is  gone 
All  his  flock  from  him  saving  one, — 
Judas  alone. 


SIENA.  ^23 

Surely  your  race  it  was  that  he, 

0  men  signed  backward  with  his  name  ! 
Beholding  in  Getiisemane, 

Bled  the  red  bitter  sweat  of  shame, 
Knowing  how  the  word  of  Christian  should 
Mean  to  men  evil  and  not  good. 
Seem  to  men  shameful  for  your  sake, 
Whose  lips,  for  all  the  prayers  they  make, 
Man's  blood  must  slake. 

But  blood  nor  tears  ye  love  not,  yon 
That  my  love  leads  my  longing  to, 
Fair  as  the  world's  old  faith  of  flowers, 
0  golden  goddesses  of  ours  ! 
From  what  Idalian  rose-pleasance 
Hath  Aphrodite  bidden  glance 
The  lovelier  lightnings  of  your  feet  ? 
From  what  sweet  Paphian  sward  or  seat 
Led  you  more  sweet  ? 

0  white  three  sisters,  three  as  one, 

With  flower-like  arms  for  flowery  bands, 
Your  linked  limbs  glitter  like  the  sun. 
And  times  lies  beaten  at  your  hands. 
Time  and  wild  years  and  wars  and  men 
Pass,  and  ye  care  not  whence  or  when  ; 
With  calm  lips  over-SAveet  for  scorn, 
Ye  watch  night  pass,  0  children  born 
Of  the  old-world  morn  ! 

Ah  !  in  this  strange  and  shrineless  place, 
What  doth  a  goddess,  what  a  Grace, 
Where  no  Greek  worships  her  shrined  limbs 
With  wreaths  and  Cytherean  hymns  ? 
Where  no  lute  makes  luxurious 
The  adoring  airs  in  Amathus, 
Till  the  maid,  knowing  her  mother  near. 
Sobs  with  love,  aching  with  sweet  fear  ? 
What  do  ye  here  ? 

For  the  outer  land  is  sad,  and  wears 

A  raiment  of  a  flaming  fire  ; 
And  the  fierce  fruitless  mountain  stairs 

Climb,  vet  seem  wroth  and  loath  to  aspire,— 


224  SIENA. 

Climb,  and  break,  and  are  broken  down, 
xVnd  through  their  clefts  aiul  crests  the  town 
Looks  west,  and  sees  the  dead  sun  lie, 
In  sanguine  death  that  stains  the  sky 
With  angry  dye. 

And  from  the  war-worn  wastes  without 
In  twilight,  in  the  time  of  doubt, 
One  sound  comes  of  one  whisper,  where 
Moved  with  low  motions  of  slow  air 
The  great  trees  nigh  the  castle  swing 
In  the  sad-colored  evening  : 
"  Ricorditi  di  me,  die  son 
La  Pia," — that  small  sweet  word  alone 
Is  not  yet  gone. 

"  Ricorditi  di  me," — tbe  sound 

Sole  out  of  deep  dumb  days  remote, 

Across  the  fiery  and  fatal  ground 
Comes  tender  as  a  hurt  bird's  note 

To  where,  a  ghost  with  empty  hands, 

A  woe-worn  ghost,  her  palace  stands 

In  the  mid  city,  where  the  strong 

Bells  turn  the  sunset  air  to  song, 
And  the  towers  throng. 

With  other  face,  with  speech  the  same, 
A  mightier  maiden's  likeness  came 
Late  among  mourning  men  that  sle2:)t, 
A  sacred  ghost  that  went  and  wept. 
White  as  tlie  passion-wounded  Lamb, 
Saying,  "  Ah,  remember  me,  that  am 
Italia."     (From  deep  sea  to  sea 
Earth  lieard,  earth  knew  her,  that  this  was  she.) 
"  Ricorditi. 

"  Love  made  me  of  all  things  fairest  thing. 
And  Hate  unmade  me  ;  this  knows  he 

Who  with  God's  sacerdotal  ring 

Enringed  mine  hand,  espousing  me." 

Yea,  in  thy  myriad-mooded  woe, 

Yea,  Mother,  hast  thou  not  said  so  ? 

Have  not  our  hearts  within  us  stirred, 

0  thou  most  holiest,  at  thy  word  ? 
Have  we  not  heard  ? 


SIENA.  225 

As  this  dead  tragic  land  that  she 
Found  deadly,  such  was  time  to  thee  ; 
Years  passed  thee  withering  in  the  red 
Maremma, — years  that  deemed  thee  dead, 
Ages  that  sorrowed  or  that  scorned  ; 
And  all  this  while,  though  all  they  mourned, 
Thou  sawest  the  end  of  things  unclean, 
And  the  unborn  that  should  see  thee  a  queen. 
Have  we  not  seen  ? 

The  weary  j^oet,  thy  sad  son, 

IT  lion  thy  soil,  under  thy  skies, 
Saw  all  Italian  things  save  one, — 

Italia  :  this  thing  missed  his  eyes  ; 
The  old  mother-might,  the  breast,  the  face. 
That  reared,  that  lit  the  Roman  race, — 
This  not  Leopardi  saw  ;  but  we, 
What  is  it,  ^lother,  that  we  see, — 
What,  if  not  thee  ? 

Look  thou  from  Siena  southward  home. 
Where  the  priest's  pall  hangs  rent  on  Rome, 
And  through  the  red  rent  swaddling-bands 
Toward  thine  she  strains  her  laboring  hands. 
Look  thou  and  listen,  and  let  be 
All  the  dead  quick,  all  the  bond  free  ; 
In  the  blind  eyes  let  there  be  sight  ; 
In  the  eighteen  centuries  of  the  night 
Let  there  be  light. 

Bow  down  the  beauty  of  thine  head, 

Sweet,  and  with  lips  of  living  breath 
Kiss  thy  sons  sleeping  ami  thy  dead. 

That  there  be  no  more  sleep  or  death. 
Give  us  thy  light,  thy  might,  tliy  love. 
Whom  thy  face  seen  afar  above 
Drew  to  thy  feet  :  and  when,  being  free, 
Thou  liast  blest  thy  children  born  to  thee, 
Bless  also  me, — 

Me,  that  Avhen  others  played  or  slept. 
Sat  still  under  thy  cross,  and  wept  ; 
Me,  wlio  so  early  and  unaware 
Felt  fall  on  bent  bared  brows  and  hair 

IS 


226  SIENA. 

(Thin  drops  of  the  overflowing  flood  !) 
The  bitter  blessing  of  thy  blood, 
The  sacred  shadow  of  thy  pain, 
Thine,  the  true  maiden-mother,  slain 
And  raised  again  ; 

Me,  consecrated,  if  I  might. 

To  praise  thee,  or  to  love  at  least, 

0  mother  of  all  men's  dear  delight, 

Thou  madest  a  choral-souled  boy-priest. 

Before  my  lips  had  leave  to  sing, 

Or  my  hands  hardly  strength  to  cling 

About  the  intolerable  tree 

AVhereto  they  had  nailed  my  heart  and  thee. 
And  said,  "  Let  be." 

For  to  thee  too,  the  high  Fates  gave 
Grace  to  be  sacrificed  and  save. 
That  being  arisen,  in  the  equal  sun, 
God  and  the  People  should  be  one  ; 
By  those  red  roads  thy  footprints  trod, 
Man  more  divine,  more  human  God, 
Saviour  ;  that  where  no  light  was  known 
But  darkness,  and  a  daytime  flown. 
Light  should  be  shown. 

Let  there  be  light,  0  Italy  ! 

For  our  feet  falter  in  the  night. 
0  lamp  of  living  years  to  be, 

0  light  of  God,"  let  there  be  light ! 
Fill  with  a  love  keener  than  flame 
Men  sealed  in  spirit  with  thy  name. 
The  cities  and  the  Eoman  skies, 
Where  men  with  other  than  man's  eyes 
Saw  thy  sun  rise. 

For  theirs  thou  wast,  and  thine  were  they, 
Whose  names  outshine  thy  very  day  : 
For  they  are  thine,  and  theirs  thou  art. 
Whose  blood  beats  living  in  man's  heart, 
Eemembcring  ages  fled  and  dead 
Wlierein  for 'thy  sake  these  men  bled; 
They  that  saw  Trebia,  they  that  see 
Mentana,  they  in  years  to  be 
That  shall  see  thee. 


COR  CORDIUM— TIRESIAS.  227 

For  thine  aie  all  of  us,  and  ours 

Thou  ;  till  the  seasons  bring  to  birth 
A  perfect  people,  and  all  the  powers 

Be  with  tlieni  that  bear  fruit  on  earth  : 
Till  the  inner  heart  of  man  be  one 
With  freedom,  and  the  sovereign  sun  ; 
And  Time,  in  likeness  of  a  guide, 
Lead  the  Republic  as  a  bride 
Up  to  God's  side. 

COR  CORDIUM. 

0  HEART  of  hearts,  the  chalice  of  love's  fire. 

Hid  round  with  flowers  and  all  the  bounty  of  bloom; 
0  wonderful  and  perfect  heart,  for  whom 

Tlie  lyrist  liberty  made  life  a  lyre  ; 

0  heavenly  heart,  at  whose  most  dear  desire 
Dead  Love,  living  and  singing,  cleft  his  tomb, 
And  with  him  risen  and  regent  in  death's  room 

All  day  thy  choral  pulses  rang  full  choir  ; 

0  hearts  whose  beating  blood  was  running  song, 
0  solo  thing  sweeter  than  thine  own  songs  wei*e, 
Help  us  for  thy  free  love's  sake  to  be  free, 

True  for  thy  truth's  sake,  for  thy  strength's  sake 
strong. 

Till  very  liberty  make  clean  and  fair 

The  nursing  earth  as  the  sepulchral  sea. 


TIRESIAS. 

PART    T. 

It  is  an  hour  before  the  hour  of  dawn. 

Set  in  mine  hand  my  staff,  and  leave  me  here 
Outside  the  hollow  house  that  ])lind  men  fear, 

More  blind  than  1  who  live  on  life  withdrawn. 
And  feel  on  eyes  that  sec  not  but  foresee 
The  sliadow  of  death  which  clothes  Antigone. 

Here  lay  her  living  body  that  here  lies 

Dead,  if  man  living  know  what  thing  is  death, 
If  life  be  all  nuidc  up  of  blood  and  brcatli, 


228  TIRESIAS, 

Aud  no  sense  be  save  as  of  ears  and  e3'es. 

But  heart  there  is  not,  tongue  there   is  not  found. 
To  think  or  sing  what  verge  hath  life  or  bound. 

In  the  beginning  when  the  powers  that  made 
The  young  child  man  a  little  loved  him,  seeing 
His  joy  of  life  and  fair  face  of  his  being, 

And  bland  and  laughing  with    the  manchild  jiliiyed, 
x\s  friends  they  saw  on  our  divine  one  day. 
King  Cadmus  take  to  queen  Harmonia. 

The  strength  of  soul  that  builds  up  as  with  hands, 
Walls  spiritual  and  towers  and  towns  of  thought 
Which  only  fate,  not  force,  can  bring  to  naught. 

Took  then  to  wnfe  the  light  of  all  men's  lands, 
War's  child,  and  love's,  most  sweet  and  wise  and 

strong. 
Order  of  things  and  rule  and  guiding  song. 

It  was  long  since  :  yea,  even  the  sun  that  saw 
•   Remembers  hardly  what  was,  nor  how  long  ; 
And  now  the  wise  heart  of  the  worldly  song 
Is  perished,  and  the  holy  hand  of  law 
Can  set  no  tune  on  time,  nor  help  again 
The  power  of  thought  to  build  up  life  for  men. 

Yea,  surely  are  they  now  transformed  or  dead, 
And  sleep  below  this  Avorld,  where  no  sun  warms. 
Or  move  about  it  now  in  formless  forms 

Incognizable,  and  all  their  lordship  fled  ; 

And  where  they  stood  up  singing,  crawl  and  hiss 
With  fangs  that  kill  behind  their  lips  that  kiss. 

Yet  though  her  marriage-garment,  seeming  fair. 
Was  dyed  in  sin  and  woven  of  jealousy 
To  turn  their  seed  to  poison,  time  shall  see 

The  gods  re-issue  from  them,  and  repair 
Their  broken  stamp  of  godhead,  and  again 
Thought  and  wise  love  sing  words  of  law  to  men. 

I,  Tiresias  the  prophet,  seeing  in  Thebes 
Much  evil,  and  the  misery  of  men's  hands 
Who  sow  with  fruitless  wheat  the  stones  and  sands, 


TIRESIAS.  229 

With  fruitful  thorns  the  fallows  and  warm  glebes. 
Bade  their  hands  hold  lest  worse  hap  come  to  pass. 
But  which  of  vou  had  heed  of  Tiresias  ? 


I  am  as  Time's  self  in  mine  OAvn  wearied  mind, 
Whom  the  strong  heavy-footed  years  have  led 
From  night  to  night  and  dead  men  unto  dead, 

And  from  the  blind  hope  to  the  memory  blind  ; 
For  each  man's  life  is  woven,  as  Time's  life  is, 
Of  blind  young  hopes  and  old  blind  memories. 

I  am  a  soul  outside  of  death  and  birth. 
I  see  before  me  and  afterward  I  see, 
0  child,  0  corpse,  the  live  dead  face  of  thee. 

Whose  life  and  death  are  one  thing  upon  earth 
Where  day  kills  night  and  night  again  kills  day 
And  dies  ;  but  where  is  that  Harmonia  ? 

0  all-beholden  light  not  seen  of  me  ! 

Air,  and  warm  winds  that  under  the  sun's  eye 
Stretch  your  strong  wings  at  morning  ;  and  thou, 
sky, 

Whose  hollow  circle  engirdling  earth  and  sea 
All  night  the  set  stars  limit,  and  all  day 
The  moving  sun  remeasures  ;  ye,  I  say, — 

Ye  heights  of  hills,  and  thou  Dircean  spring 
Inviolable,  and  ye  towers  that  saw  cast  down 
.Seven  kings  keen-sighted  toward  your  seven-faced 
town, 

And  quenched  the  red  seed  of  one  sightless  king  ; 
And  thou,  for  deathless  dreadful   than  for  birth, 
Whose  wild  leaves  hide  the  horror  of  the  earth, — 

0  mountain  whereon  gods  made  chase  of  kings, 
Citheeon,  tliou  that  sawest  on  Penthcus  dead 
Fangs  of  a  mother  fasten,  and  wax  red, 

And  satiate  with  a  son  thy  swollen  springs. 

And  he;irdst  her  cry  friglitall  tliine  c\rio.s'  nests 
Who  gave  death  suck  at  sanguine-suckling  breasts  ; 


230  TIRESIAS. 

Yea,  and  a  grief  more  grievous,  without  name, 
A  curse  too  grievous  for  the  name  of  grief. 
Thou  sawest,  and  lieardst  the  rumor   scare  helief 

Even  unto  death  and  madness,  when  the  flame 
AVas  lit  whose  ashes  dropjjed  about  the  pyre 
That  of  two  brethren  made  one  sundering  fire  ; 

0  bitter  nurse,  that  on  thine  hard  bare  knees 
Rear'dst  for  his  fate  the  bloody-footed  child 
Whose  hands  should  be  more  bloodily  defiled 

And  the  old  blind  feet  walk  Avearier  ways  than  these, 
Whose  seed,  brought  forth  in  darkness  unto  doom. 
Should  break  as  fire  out  of  his  mother's  womb  ; 

1  bear  you  witness  as  ye  bear  to  me. 

Time,  day,  night,  sun,  stars,  life,  death,   air,  sea, 

earth. 
And  ye  that  round  the  human  house  of  birth 
Watch  with  veiled  heads  and  weaponed  hands,  and 

see 
Good  things  and  evil,  strengthless yet  and  dumb. 
Sit  in  the  clouds  with  cloudlike  hours  to  come  ; 

Ye  forces  without  form  and  viewless  i:)owers 
That  have  the  keys  of  all  our  years  in  hold. 
That  i^rophesy  too  late  with  tongues  of  gold. 

In  a  strange  speech  whose  words  are  perished  hours, 
I  witness  to  you  what  good  things  ye  give 
As  ye  to  me  what  evil  while  I  live. 

What  should  I  do  to  blame  you,  what  to  praise, 

For  floral  hours  and  hours  funereal  ? 

What  should  I  do  to  curse  or   bless  at  all 
For  winter-woven  or  summer-colored  days  ? 

Curse  he  that  will,  and  bless  you  whoso  can  : 

I  have  no  common  part  in  you  with  man. 

I  hear  a  springing  water,  whose  quick  sound 
]\[akes  softer  the  soft,  sunless,  patient  air. 
And  the  wind's  hand  is  laid  on  my  thin  hair 

Light  as  a  lover's,  and  the  grasses  roujid 

Have  odors  in  them  of  green  bloom  and  rain, 
Sweet  as  the  kiss  wherewith  sleep  kisses  pain. 


TIRESIAS.  231 

I  hear  the  Ioav  sound  of  the  spring  of  time 
Still  beating  as  the  low  live  throb  of  blood, 
And  where  its  waters  gather  head  and  flood 

I  hear  change  moving  on  them,  and  the  chime 
Across  them  of  reverberate  wings  of  hours 
Sounding,  and  feel  the  future  air  of  flowers. 

The  wind  of  change  is  soft  as  snow,  and  sweet 
The  sense  thereof  as  roses  in  the  sun, 
The  faint  wind  springing   with   the  springs   that 
run, 

The  dim  sweet  smell  of  flowering  hopes,  and  heat 
Of  unbeholden  sunrise  ;  yet  how  long 
I  know  not,  till  the  morning  jiut  forth  song. 

I  prophesy  of  life,  who  live  with  death  ; 

Of  joy,  being  sad  ;  of  sunlight,  who  am  blind  ; 

Of  man,  whose  ways  are  alien  from    mankind 
And  his  lips  are  not  parted  with  man's  breath  : 

I  am  a  word  out  of  the  speechless  years. 

The    tongue  of  time,  that  no    man    sleeps    who 
hears. 

I  stand  a  shadow  across  the  door  of  doom 

Athwart  the  lintel  of  death's  house,  and  wait  ; 

Nor  quick  nor  dead,  nor  flexible  by  fate. 
Nor  quite  of  earth  nor  wholly  of  the  tomb  ; 

A  voice,  a  vision,  light  as  fire  or  air. 

Driven  between  days  that  shall  be  and  that  were. 

I  prophesy,  with  feet  upon  a  grave, 

Of  death  cast  out,  and  life  devouring  death 
As  flame  doth  wood  and  stul)l>le  with  a  breath  ; 

Of  freedom,  though  all  manhood  were  one  slave  ; 
Of  truth,  though  all  the  world  were  liar  ;  of  love. 
That  time  nor  liate  can  raze  the  witness  of. 

Life  that  was  given  for  love's  sake  and  his  law's, 
Their  powers  have  no  more  power  on  :  they  divide 
Spoils   Avrung  from  lust  or  wrath  of  man  or  pride, 

And  keen  oblivion  without  pity  or  pause 
Sets  them  on  fire,  and  scatters  tliein  on  air 
Like  ashes  shaken  from  a  suppliant's  hair. 


232  TIRESIAS. 

But  life  they  lay  no  hand  on  ;  life  once  given 

Xo  force  of  theirs  hath  competence  to  take  ; 

Life  that  was  given  for  some  divine  thing's  sake, 
To  mix  the  bitterness  of  earth  with  heaven, 

Light  with  man's  night,  and  music  with  his 
breath, 

Dies  not,  but  makes  its  living  food  of  death. 

I  have  seen  this,  who  live  where  men  are  not. 
In  the  high  starless  air  of  fruitful  night. 
On  tliat  serenest  and  obscurest  height 

Where  dead  and  unborn  tilings  are  one  in  thought. 
And  whence  the  live  unconquerable  springs 
Feed  full  of  force  the  torrents  of  new  things. 

I  have  seen  this,  who  saw  long  since,  being  man. 
As  now  I  know  not  if  indeed  I  be. 
The  fair  bare  body  of  Wisdom,  good  to  see 

And  evil,  whence  my  light  and  night  began  ; 
Light  on  tlie  goal  and  darkness  on  the  way. 
Light  all  through  night  and  darkness  all  through 
day. 

Mother,  that  by  that  Pegasean  spring, 

Didst  fold  round  in  thine  arms  thy  blinded  son. 
Weeping,  "  0   holiest,  what  thing  hast  thou  done. 

What,  to  my  child  ?  woe's  me  that  see  the  thing  ! 
Is  this  thy  love  to  me-ward,  and  hereof 
Must  I  take  sa-mple  how  the  gods  can  love  ? 

''  0  child,  thou  hast  seen  indeed,  poor  child  of  mine. 
The  breasts  and  flanks  of  Fallas  bare  in  sight. 
But  never  shalt  see  more  the  dear  sun's  light  ; 

0  Helicon,  how  great  a  pay  is  thine 

For  some  poor  antelopes  and  wild-deer  dead  ! 
My  child's  eyes  hast  thou  taken  in  their  stead  " — 

Mother,  thou  knewest  not  what  she  had  to  give, 
Thy  goddess,  though  then  angered,  for  mine  eyes  ; 
Fame  and  foreknowledge,  and  to  be  most  wise. 

And  centuries  of  high-thoughted  life  to  live. 
And  in  mine  hand  this  guiding  staff  to  be 
As  eyesight  to  the  feet  of  men  that  see, 


TIRESIAS.  233 

Perchance  I  shall  not  die  at  all,  nor  pass 
Tlie  general  door  and  lintel  of  men  dead  , 
Yet  even  the  very  tongue  of  wisdom  said 

What  grace  should  come  with  death  to  Tiresias, 
What  special  honor  that  god's  hand  accord 
Who  gathers  all  men's  nations  as  their  lord. 

And  sometimes  when  the  secret  eye  of  thought 
Is  changed  with  obscuration,  and  the  sense 
Aches  with  long  pain  of  hollow  prescience, 

And  fiery  foresight  wath  fore-suffering  bought 
Seems  even  to  infect  my  spirit  and  consume. 
Hunger  and  thirst  come  on  me  for  the  tomb. 

I  could  be  fain  to  drink  my  deatli,  and  sleep, 
And  no  more  wrapped  about  with  bitter  dreams 
Talk    with   the   stars   and   w^ith    the   winds    and 
streams 

And  with  the  inevitable  years,  and  weep  ; 

For  how  should  he  who  communes  with  the  years 
Be  sometime  not  a  living  spring  of  tears  ? 

0  child,  that  guided  of  thine  only  will 
Didst  set  thy  maiden  foot  against  the  gate 
To  strike  it  open  ere  thine  liour  of  fate, 

Antigone,  men  say  not  thou  didst  ill. 

For  love's  sake  and  the  reverence  of  his  awe 
Divinely  dying,  slain  by  mortal  law  ; 

For  love  is  awful  as  immortal  death. 

And  through  thee  surely  hath  thy  brother  won 
Rest,  out  of  sight  of  our  world-weary  sun. 

And  in  the  dead  land  where  ye  ghosts  draw  breath 
A  royal  place  and  honor  ;  so  wast  thou 
Happy,  though  earth  have  hold  of  thee  too  now. 

So  hast  thou  life  and  name  inviolable. 
And  joy  it  may  be,  sacred  and  severe, 
Joy  secret-souled  beyond  all  hope  or  fear, 

A  monumental  joy  wherein  to  dwell 
Secluse  aiul  silent,  a  selected  state. 
Serene  possession  of  thy  proper  fate. 


234  TIRESIAS. 

Thou  art  not  dead  as  these  are  dead  who  live 
Full  of  blind  years,  a  sorrow-shaken  kind, 
Nor  as  these  are  am  I  the  prophet  blind  ; 

They  have  not  life  that  have  not  heart  to  give 
Life,  nor  have  eyesight  who  lack  heart  to  see 
When  to  be  not  is  better  than  to  be. 

0  ye  whom  time  but  bears  with  for  a  span. 
How  long  will  ye  be  blind  and  dead,  how  long 
Make  your    own   souls   part    of   your   own   soul's 
wrong  ? 
Son  of  the  word  of  the  most  high  gods,  man, 

Why   wilt    thou    make    thine    hour    of   light  and 

breath 
Emptier  of  all  but  shame  than  very  death  ? 

Fool,  wilt  thou  live  forever  ?  though  thou  care 
With  all  thine  heart  for  life  to  keep  it  fast, 
Shall  not  thine  hand  forego  it  at  the  last  ? 

Lo,  thy  sure  hour  shall  take  thee  by  the  hair 

Sleeping,  or  when  thou   knowest  not,  or  wouldst 

And  as  men  died  much  mightier,  shalt  thou  die. 

Yea,   they  are  dead,   men  much  more  worth  than 
thou  ; 

The  savor  of  heroic  lives  that  were, 

Is  it  not  mixed  into  thy  common  air  ? 
The  sense  of  them  is  shed  about  thee  now  : 

Feel  not  thy  brows  a  wind  blowing  from  far  ? 

Aches  not  thy  forehead  with  a  future  star  ? 

The  light  that  thou  may'st  make  out  of  thy  name 
Is  in  the  wind  of  this  same  hour  that  drives. 
Blown  within  reach  but  once  of  all  men's  lives  ; 

And  he  that  puts  forth  hand  upon  the  flame 
Shall  have  it  for  a  garland  on  his  head 
To  sign  him  for  a  king  among  the  dead. 

But  these  men  that  the  lessening  years  behold, 
Who  sit  the  most  part  without  flame  or  crown, 
And   brawl   and  sleep,   and  wear    their  life-days 
down 


TIRESIAS.  235 

With  joys  and  griefs  ignobler  than  of  old, 
And  care  not  if  the  better  day  sliall  be, — 
Are  these  or  art  thou  dead,  Antigone  ? 


PART    II. 

As  when  one  wakes  out  of  a  waning  dream. 
And  sees  with  instant  eyes  the  naked  tliought 
Whereof  the   vision  as  a  web  was  wrought, 

I  saw  beneath  a  heaven  of  cloud  and  gleam, 

Ere  yet  the  heart  of  the  young  nun  waxed  brave. 
One  like  a  prophet  standing  by  a  grave. 

In  the  hoar  heaven  was  hardly  beam  or  breath. 
And  all  the  colored  hills  and  fields  were  gray. 
And  the  wind  wandered  seeking  for  the  day, 

And  wailed  as  though  he  luul  found    her  done  to 
death, 
And  this  gray  hour  had  built  to  bury  her 
The  hollow  twilight  for  a  sepulchre. 

But  in  my  soul  I  saw  as  in  a  glass 
A  pale  and  living  body  full  of  grace 
There  lying,  and  over  it  the  prophet's  face 

Fixed  ;  and  the  face  was  not  of  Tiresias, 
For  such  a  starry  fire  was  in  his  eyes 
As  though  their  light  it  was  tliat  made  the  skies. 

Such  eyes  should  God's  have  been  when  very  love 
Looked  forth  of  them  and  set  the  sun  aflame, 
And.  such  his  lips  that  called  the  light  by  name 

And  bade  the  morning  fortli  at  sound  thereof  ; 
His  face  was  sad  and  nuisterful  as  fate. 
And  like  a  star's  his  look  compassionate. 

Like  a  star's  gazed  on  of  sad  eyes  so  long 
It  seems  to  yearn  with  pity,  and  all  its  fire 
As  a  man's  heart  to  tremble  with  desire 

And  heave   as  though  the  liglit  would  bring  forth 
song  ; 
Yet  from  his  face  flashed  lightning  on  the  land. 
And  like  the  thunder-bearer's  was  his  hand. 


236  TIRESIAS. 

The  steepness  of  strange  stairs  liacl  tired  his  feet. 
And  liis  lips  yet  seemed  sick  of  that  salt  bread 
AVherewith  the  lips  of  banishment  are  fed  ; 

But  nothing  was  there  in  the  world  so  sweet 
As  the  most  bitter  love,  like  God's  own  grace, 
Wherewith  he  gazed  on  that  fair  buried  face. 

Grief  and  glad  j^ride  and  passion  and  sharp  shame. 
Wrath   and    remembrance,    faith   and   hope    and 

hate, 
And  i^itiless  pity  of  days  degenerate, 

Where  in  his  eyes  as  an  incorpoi'ate  flame 

That  burned  about  her,  and  the  heart  thereof 
And  central  flower  was  very  fire  of  love. 

But  all  about  her  grave  wherein  she  slept 
AVere  noises  of  the  Avild  wind-footed  years 
Whose  footprints   flying  were  full  of  blood  and 
tears, 

Shrieks  as  of  Maenads  on  their  hills  that  leapt 
And  yelled  as  beasts  of  ravin,  and  their  meat 
Was  the  rent  flesh  of  their  own  sons  to  eat. 

And  fiery  shadows  passing  with  strange  cries, 
And  sphinx-like  shapes  about  the  ruined  lands, 
And  the  red  reek  of  parricidal  hands 

And  intermixture  of  incestuous  eyes. 
And  light  as  of  that  self-divided  flame 
Which  made  an  end  of  the  Cad  mean  name. 

And  I  beheld  again,  and  lo  the  grave. 

And  tlie  bright  body  laid  therein  as  dead, 
And  the  same  shadow  across  another  head 

That  bowed  down  silent  on  that  sleeping  slave 
Who  was  the  lady  of  empire  from  her  birth 
And  light  of  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth. 

Within  tl]e  compass  of  the  watcher's  hand 
All  strengths  of  other  men  and  divers  powers 
Were  held  at  ease  and  gathered  up  as  flowers  ; 

His  heart  was  as  the  heart  of  his  whole  land. 
And  at  his  feet  as  natural  servants  lay 
Twilight  and  dawn  and  night  and  laboring  day. 


TIRESIAS.  2Sl 

He  was  most  awful  of  the  sons  of  God. 

Even  now  men  seeing  seemed  at  his  lips  to  see 
The  trumpet  of  the  judgment  that  shoukl  be. 

And  in  his  right  hand  terror  for  a  rod, 

And  in  the  breath  that  made  the  mountains  bow 

The  horned  fire  of  Moses  on  his  brow. 

The  strong  wind  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord 

Had  blown  as  flame  upon  him,  and  brought  down 

On  his  bare  head  from  heaven  fire  for  a  crown, 

And  fire  was  girt  upon  him  as  a  sword 

To  smite  and  lighten,  and  on  what  ways  he  trod 

There  fell  from  him  the  shadow  of  a  god. 

Pale,  with  tlie  whole  world's  judgment  in  his  eyes. 
He  stood  and  saw  tlie  grief  and  shame  endure 
That  he,  though  highest  of  angels,  might  not  cure. 

And  the  same  sins  done  under  the  same  skies, 
And  the  same  slaves  to  the  same  tyrants  thrown. 
And  fain   he   would   have   slept,    and    fain    been 
stone. 

But  with  unslumbering  eyes  he  watched  the  sleep 
That  sealed  her  sons  whose  eyes  were  suns  of  old  ; 
And  the  night  shut  and  opened,  and  behold. 

The  same  grave  where  tliose  prophets  came  to  weep, 
But  slie  that  lay  therein  liad  moved  and  stirred, 
And  where  those  twain  had  watched  her  stood  a 
third. 

The  tripled  rhyme  that  closed  in  Paradise 

With  Love's  name  sealing  up  its  starry  speech  ; 
The  tripled  might  of  liand  that  found  in  reach 

All  crowns  beheld  far  off  of  all  men's  eyes. 
Song,  color,  carven  wonders  of  live  stone, — 
These  were  not,  but  the  very  soul  alone. 

The  living  spirit,  the  good  gift  of  grace, 

The  faith  which  takes  of  its  own  blood  to  give 
That  the  dead  veins  of  buried  hope  may  live. 

Came  on  her  sleeping,  face  to  naked  face, 

And  from  a  soul  more  sweet  than  all  tlie  south 
Breathed    love    upon    her   sealed   and    breathless 
moutlK 


23S  AN  APPEAL. 

Between  her  lips  the  breath  was  blown  as  fire, 

And    throuo-h   her  flushed    veins  leapt  the  liquid 

life. 
And  witli  sore  passion  and  ambiguous  strife 

The  new  birth  rent  her  and  the  new  desire, 
The  will  to  live,  the  competence  to  be. 
The  sense  to  hearken,  and  the  soul  to  see. 

And  the  third  prophet  standing  by  her  grave 

Stretched  forth  his  hand,  and   touched  her  ;  and 

her  eyes 
Opened  as  sudden  suns  in  heaven  might  rise. 

And  her  soul  caught  from  his  the  faith  to  save  ; 
Faith  above  creeds,  faith  beyond  records,  born 
Of  the  pure,  naked,  fruitful,  awful  morn. 

For  in  the  daybreak  now  that  night  was  dead 
The  light,  the  shadow,  the  delight,  the  pain, 
Tlie  purpose  and  the  passion  of  those  twain, 

Seemed  gathered  on  that  third  prophetic  head  ; 
And  all  their  crowns  were  as  one  crown,  and  one 
His  face  with  her  face  in  the  living  sun. 

For  even  with  that  communion  of  their  eyes 

His  whole  soul   passed  into  her,    and  made  her 

strong  ; 
And  all  the  sounds  and  shows  of  shame  and  wrong. 

The  hand  that  slays,  the  lip  that  mocks  and  lies. 
Temples  and  thrones  that  yet  men  seem  to  see, — 
Are  these  dead,  or  art  thou  dead,  Italy  ? 


AN  APPEAL. 

I. 

Art  thou  indeed  among  these. 
Thou  of  the  tyrannous  crew. 
The  kingdoms  fed  upon  blood, 
0  qnoen  from  of  old  of  the  seas, 
England, — art  thou  of  them  too 
That  drink  of  the  poisonous  flood. 
That  hide  under  poisonous  trees  ? 


AN  APPEAL.  239 

II. 

Nay,  thy  name  from  of  old, 
Mother,  was  pure,  or  we  dreamed  ; 
Purer  we  hekl  thee  than  this. 
Purer  fain  woukl  we  hokl  ; 
So  goodly  a  glory  it  seemed, 
A  fame  so  bounteous  of  bliss. 
So  more  precious  than  gold. 

III. 

A  praise  so  sweet  in  our  ears, 

That  thou  in  the  tempest  of  things 

As  a  rock  for  a  refuge  shouldst  stand. 

In  the  blood-red  river  of  tears 

Poured  forth  for  the  triumph  of  kings  ; 

A  safeguard,  a  shelteriug  land. 

In  the  thunder  and  torrent  of  years. 

IV. 

Strangers  came  gladly  to  thee, 

Exiles,  chosen  of  men. 

Safe  for  thy  sake  in  thy  shade. 

Sat  down  at  thy  feet  and  were  free. 

So  men  spake  of  thee  then  : 

Now  shall  their  speaking  be  stayed  ? 

Ah,  so  let  it  not  be  ! 


Not  for  revenge  or  affright. 

Pride,  or  a  tyrannous  lust. 

Cast  from  thee  the  crown  of  thy  praise. 

Mercy  was  thine  in  thy  might  ; 

Strong  when  thou  wert,  thou  wert  just ; 

Now,  in  the  wi-ong-doing  days. 

Cleave  thou,  thou  at  least,  to  tlio  riglit. 

VI. 

How  should  one  charge  thee,  how  sway. 

Save  by  the  memories  that  Avere  ? 

Not  thy  gold,  nor  the  strength  of  tliy  ships. 


240  AN  APPEAL. 

Nor  the  might  of  thine  armies  at  bay, 
Made  thee,  mother,  most  fair  : 
But  u  word  from  repuhlicuii  lips 
Said  iu  thy  name,  in  thy  day. 

VII. 

Hast  thou  said  it,  and  hast  tliou  forgot  ? 
Is  thy  praise  in  thine  ears  as  a  scoff  ? 
Blood  of  men  guiltless  was  shed. 
Children,  and  souls  without  spot. 
Shed,  but  in  places  far  off  : 
Let  slaughter  no  more  he,  said 
Milton  ;  and  slaughter  was  not. 

Tin. 

Was  it  not  said  of  thee  too, 

Now,  but  now,  by  thy  foes. 

By  the  slaves  that  had  slain  their  France, 

And  thee  would  slay  as  they  slew — 

"  Down  with  her  walls  that  enclose 

Freemen  that  eye  us  askance. 

Fugitives,  men  that  are  true  ! " 

IX. 

This  was  thy  praise  or  thy  blame. 
From  bondsman  or  freeman, — to  be 
Pure  from  pollution  of  slaves. 
Clean  of  their  sins,  and  thy  name 
Bloodless,  innocent,  free  : 
Now  if  thou  be  not,  thy  Avaves 
Wash  not  from  off  thee  thy  shame. 


Freeman"  he  is  not,  but  slave. 
Whoso  in  fear  for  the  state 
Cries  for  surety  of  blood. 
Help  of  gibbet  and  grave  ; 
Neither  is  any  land  great 
Whom,  in  her  fear-stricken  mood, 
These  things  only  can  save. 


PERINDE  AC  CADAVER.  241 

XI. 

Lo  !  how  fair  from  afar, 
Taintless  of  tyranny,  stands 
Thy  migiity  danghter,  for  years 
Who  trod  the  winepress  of  war, — 
Shines  with  immacnhite  hands  ; 
Slays  not  a  foe,  neither  fears  ; 
Stains  not  peace  with  a  scar. 

XII. 

Be  not  as  tyrant  or  slave, 
England  ;  be  not  as  these. 
Thou  that  wert  other  than  they. 
Stretch  out  thine  hand,  but  to  save  ; 
Put  forth  thy  strength,  and  release  : 
Lest  there  arise,  if  thou  slay. 
Thy  shame  as  a  ghost  from  the  grave. 
Nov.  30,  1867. 

PERINDE   AC    CADAVER. 

In  a  vision  Liberty  stood 

By  the  childless  cOiarm-stricken  bed 
Where,  barren  of  glory  and  good. 
Knowing  naught  if  she  would  not  or  would, 

England  slej)t  with  her  dead. 

Her  face  that  the  foam  had  whitened. 

Her  hands  that  were  strong  to  strive, 
Her  eyes  whence  battle  had  lightened. 
Over  all  was  a  drawn  shroud  tightened 
To  bind  her  asleep  and  alive. 

She  turned  and  laughed  in  her  dream, 

With  gray  lips  arid  and  cold  : 
She  saw  not  the  face  as  a  beam 
Burn  on  her,  but  only  a  gleam 

Through  her  sleep  as  of  new-stamped  gold. 

But  the  goddess,  with  terrible  tears 
In  the  light  of  her  down-drawn  eyes. 

Spake  fire  in  the  dull  sealed  ears  : 

"  Thou,  sick  with  slumbers  and  fears. 
Wilt  thou  sleep  now  indeed,  or  arise  ? 

i6 


242  PERINDE  AC  CADAVER. 

"  With  dreams,  and  with  words,  and  with  light 

Memories  and  empty  desires, 
Tliou  hast  wrapped  thyself  round  all  Jiight  : 
Thou  hast  shut  up  thine  heart  from  the  right, 

And  warmed  thee  at  burnt-out  fires. 

"  Yet  once,  if  I  smote  at  thy  gate. 

Thy  sons  would  sleep  not,  but  heard  : 
0  thou  that  wast  fonnd  so  great. 
Art  thou  smitten  with  folly  or  fate, 

That  thy  sons  have  forgotten  my  word  ? 

"  0  Cromwell's  mother,  0  breast 

That  suckled  Milton  I  thy  name 
That  was  beautiful  then,  that  was  blest. 
Is  it  wholly  discrowned  and  deprest. 
Trodden  under  by  sloth  into  shame  ? 

"  Why  wilt  thou  hate  me  and  die  ? 

For  none  can  hate  me  and  Ywe. 
What  ill  have  I  done  to  thee  ?  AVhy 
Wilt  thou  turn  from  me  fighting,  and  fiy, 

Who  would  follow  thy  feet  and  forgive  ? 

"  Thou  hast  seen  me  stricken,  and  said, 

What  is  it  to  me  ?     I  am  strong  : 
Thou  hast  seen  me  bowed  down  on  my  dead. 
And  laughed,  and  lifted  thine  head. 
And  washed  thine  hands  of  my  wrong. 

*'  Thou  has  put  out  the  soul  of  thy  sight : 

Thou  hast  sought  to  my  foemen  as  friend. 
To  my  traitors  that  kiss  me  and  smite, 
To  the  kingdoms  and  empires  of  night 
That  begin  w'ith  the  darkness,  and  end. 

"  Turn  thee,  awaken,  arise. 

With  the  light  that  is  risen  on  the  lands. 
With  the  change  of  the  fresh-colored  skies  : 
Set  thine  eyes  on  mine  eyes, 

Lay  thy  hands  in  my  hands," 


PERINDE  AC  CADAVER.  243 

She  moved  and  mouraed  as  she  heard. 

Sighed,  and  sliifted  her  phxce, 
As  tlie  wells  of  lier  slumber  were  sth-red 
By  the  music  and  wind  of  the  word. 

Then  turned,  and  covered  her  face. 

"  Ah  ! "  she  said  in  her  sleep, 

"  Is  my  work  not  doiie  with,  and  done  ? 
Is  there  corn  for  my  sickle  to  reap  ? 
And  strange  is  the  pathway,  and  steep, 

And  sharp  overhead  is  the  sun. 

*'  I  have  done  thee  service  enough, 

Lovea  thee  enough  in  my  day  : 
Now  nor  iiatred  nor  love 
Nor  hardly  remembrance  thereof 

Lives  in  me  to  lighten  my  way. 

*'  And  is  it  not  well  with  us  here  ? 

Is  change  as  good  as  is  rest  ? 
What  hope  should  move  me,  or  fear 
That  eye  should  open  or  ear, 

AVho  have  long  since  won  what  is  best  ? 

"  Where  among  ns  are  such  things 

As  turn  men's  hearts  into  hell  ? 
Have  we  not  queens  without  stings, 
Scoicned  princes,  and  fangless  kings  ? 

Yea,"  she  said,   "  we  are  well. 

"  We  have  filed  the  teeth  of  the  snake 

Mrnarchy  ;  how  should  it  bite  ? 
Should  the  slippery  slow  thing  wake, 
It  will  not  sting  for  my  sake  ; 

Yea,"  she  said,   "  I  do  right." 

So  spake  she,  drunken  with  dreams, 

Mad  ;  but  again  in  her  ears 
A  voice  as  of  storm-swelled  streams 
Spake  :  "  No  brave  shame  then  redeems 

Thy  lusts  of  sloth  and  thy  fears  ? 


244:  THE  OBLATION. 

"Thy  poor  lies  slain  of  thine  hands, 
Tlieir  starved  limbs  rot  in  thy  sight 
As  a  shadow  the  ghost  of  thee  stands 
Among  men  living  and  lauds. 
And  stirs  not  leftward  or  right. 

"  Freeman  he  is  not,  but  slave, 

Who  stands  not,  out  on  my  side  ; 
His  own  hand  hollows  his  grave, 
Nor  strength  is  in  me  to  save 
AVhere  strength  is  none  to  abide. 

"  Time  shall  tread  on  his  name 

That  was  written  for  honor  of  old. 
Who  hath  taken  in  change  for  fame 
Dust,  and  silver,  and  shame. 
Ashes,  and  iron,  and  gold." 


THE  OBLATION. 

Ask  nothing  more  of  me,  sweet  ; 
All  I  can  give  you,  1  give. 

Heart  of  my  heart,  were  it  more, 
More  would  be  laid  at  your  feet  : 
Love  that  should  help  yon  to  live. 
Song  that  should  spur  you  to  soai. 

All  things  were  nothing  to  give. 
Once  to  have  sense  of  you  more. 

Touch  you  and  taste  of  you,  sweet. 
Think  you  and  breathe  you,  and  liv; 
Swept  of  your  Avings  as  they  soar. 
Trodden  by  chance  of  your  feet. 

I  that  have  love  and  no  more 
Give  you  but  love  of  you,  sweet  : 
He  tliat  hath  more,  let  him  give  ; 

He  that  hath  wiiigs,  let  him  soar  ; 
Mine  is  the  heart  at  your  feet 
Here,  that  must  love  you  to  live. 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  245 


A  SOXG  OF  ITALY. 

IJpox  a  windy  night  of  stars  that  fell 

At  the  wind's  spoken  spell. 
Swept  with  sliarp  strokes  of  agonizing  light 

From  the  clear  gulf  of  nigiit, 
Between  the  fixed  and  fallen  glories  one 

Against  my  vision  shone, 
More  fair  and  fearful  and  divine  than  they 

That  measure  night  and  day, 
And  worthier  worship  ;  and  within  mine  eyes 

The  formless  folded  skies 
Took  shape  and  were  unfolded  like  as  flowers. 

And  1  beheld  the  hours 
As  maidens,  and  the  days  as  laboring  men. 

And  the  soft  nights  again 
As  wearied  women  to  their  own  souls  wed, 

And  ages  as  tlie  dead. 
And  over  these  living,  and  them  that  died, 

From  one  to  the  other  side 
A  lordlier  light  than  comes  of  earth  or  air 

Made  the  world's  future  fair. 
A  woman  like  to  love  in  face,  but  not 

A  thing  of  transient  lot  ; 
And  like  to  hope,  but  having  hold  on  truth  ; 

And  like  to  Joy  or  youth. 
Save  that  upon  the  rock  her  feet  were  set  ; 

And  like  what  men  forget, 
Faith,  innocence,   high  thouglit,  laborious  peace, — 

And  yet  like  none  of  these. 
Being  not  as  these 'are  mortal,  but  with  eyes 

That  sounded  the  deep  skies, 
And  clove  like  wings  or  arrows  tlieir  clear  way 

Tlirough  night  and  dawn  and  day, — 
So  fair  a  presence  over  star  and  sun 

Stood,  making  these  as  one. 
For  in  the  shadow  of  her  shape  were  all 

Darkened  and  held  in  thrall. 
So  mightier  rose  she  past  tliein  ;  and  I  felt 

Whose  form,  whose  likeness  knelt    - 
With  covered  hair  and  face,  and  clasped  her  knees  ; 

And  knew  the  first  of  these 


246  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

Was  Freedom,  and  tlie  second  Italy. 

And  what  sad  words  said  slie 
For  mine  own  grief  I  knew  not,  nor  had  heart 

Therewith  to  bear  my  part 
And  set  my  songs  to  sorrow  ;  nor  to  hear 

How  tear  by  sacred  tear 
Fell  from  her  eyes  as  flowers  or  notes  that  fall 

In  some  slain  feaster's  hall 
Where  in  mid  mnsic  and  melodious  breath 

Men  singing  have  seen  death. 
So  fair,  so  lost,  so  sweet,  she  knelt  ;  or  so 

In  our  lost  eyes  below 
Seemed  to  us  sorrowing  ;  and  her  si^eech  being  said. 

Fell,  as  one  who  falls  dead. 
And  for  a  little  she  too  wept,  who  stood 

Above  the  dust  and  blood 
And    thrones    and     troubles    of    the    world  ;  then 
spake, 

As  who  bids  dead  men  wake  : — 

"  Because  the  years  were  heavy  on  thy  head  ; 

Because  dead  things  are  dead  ; 
Because  thy  cliosen  on  hillside,  city  and  jjlain 

Are  shed  as  drojis  of  rain  ; 
Because  all  earth  was  black,  all  heaven  was  blind. 

And  we  cast  out  of  mind  ; 
Because   men    wept,   saying    Freedom,   knowing    of 
theo. 

Child,  that  thou  wast  not  free  : 
Because  wherever  blood  was  not  shame  was 

Where  thy  pure  foot  did  pass  ; 
Because  on  Promethean  rocks  distent 

Thee  fouler  eagles  rent  ; 
Because  a  serpent  stains  witfe  slime  and  foam 

This  that  is  not  thy  Kome  ; 
Child  of  my  womb,  wliose  limbs  were  made  in  me, 

Have  I  forgotten  thee  ? 
In  all  thy  dreams  through  all  these  years  ou  wing, 

Hast  thou  dreamed  such  a  thing  ? 
Tlie  mortal  mother-bird  out-soars  her  nest. 

The  child  outgrows  the  1)reast  ; 
But  suns  as  stars  shall  fall  from  heaven  and  cease. 

Ere  we  twain  be  as  these  : 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  247 

YeU;  utmost  skies  forget  their  utmost  suu, 

Ere  we  twain  be  not  one. 
My  lesser  jewels  sewn  on  skirt  and  hem, 

I  have  no  heed  of  them 
Obscured  and  flawed  by  sloth  or  craft  or  power  ; 

But  thou,  that  wast  my  flower, 
The  blossom  bound  between  my  brows,  and  worn 

In  sight  of  even  and  morn 
From  the  last  ember  of  the  flameless  west 

To  the  dawn's  baring  breast — 
I  were  not  Freedom  if  thou  wert  not  free, 

Nor  thou  wert  Italy. 
0  mystic  rose  ingrained  with  blood,  impearled 

With  tears  of  all  tlie  world  ! 
Tlie  torpor  of  their  blind  brute-ridden  trance 

Kills  England  and  chills  France  ; 
A.nd  Spain  sobs  hard  through  strangling  blood  ;  and 
snows 

Hide  the  huge  eastern  woes. 
But  thou,  twin-born  with   morning,  nursed  of  noon. 

And  blessed  of  star  and  moon  ! 
What  shall  avail  to  assail  thee  any  more, 

From  sacred  shore  to  shore  ? 
Have  Time  and  Love  not  knelt  down  at  thy  feet. 

Thy  sore,  thy  soiled,  thy  sweet. 
Fresh  from  the  flints  and  mire  of  murderous  ways 

And  dust  of  travelling  days  ? 
Hath  Time  not  kissed  them.  Love  not  washed  them  fair 

And  wiped  with  tears  a.nd  hair  ? 
Though  God  forget  thee,  I  will  not  forget  ; 

Though  lieaven  and  eartli  be  set 
Against  thee,  0   unconquerable  child. 

Abused,  abased,  reviled. 
Lift  thou  not  less  from  no  funereal  bed 

Thine  undishonored  head  ; 
Love  thou  not  less,  by  lips  of  thine  once  prest. 

This  my  now  barren  breast  ; 
Seek  thou  not  less,  being  well  assured  thereof, 

0  child,  my  latest  love. 
For  now  the  barren  bosom  shall  bear  fruit. 

Songs  lea[)  from  lips  long  mute, 
And  with  my  milk  tlie  mouths  of  nations  fed 

Again  be  glad  and  red 


24 S  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

That  were  worn  white  witli  li linger  and  sorrow  and 
thirst  ; 

And  thou,  most  fair  and  first, 
Tliou  whose  warm  hands  and  sweet  live  lips  I  feel 

Ul^on  me  for  a  seal, 
Thou  whose  least  looks,  whose  smiles  and  little  sighs, 

Wiiose  passionate  pure  eyes, 
Wliose   dear   fair   limbs   that   neither   bonds   could 
bruise 

Nor  hate  of  men  misuse. 
Whose  flower-like  breatli  and  bosom,  0  my  child, 

0  mine  and  nndeflled. 

Fill  with  such  tears  as  burn  like  bitter  wine 

These  mother's  eyes  of  mine, 
Thrill  with  huge  jiassions  and  primeval  jiains 

Tlie  fulness  of  my  veins. 

0  sweetest  head  seen  higher  than  any  stands, 

1  touch  thee  with  mine  hands, 

1  lay  my  lips  upon  thee,  0  thou  most  sweet, 
To  lift  thee  on  thy  feet, 

And  with  the  fire  of  mine  to  fill  thine  eyes  ; 
I  say  unto  thee.  Arise." 

She  ceased,  and  heaven  was  full  of  flame  and  sound. 

And  earth's  old  limbs  unbound 
Shone  and  waxed  warm  with  fiery  dew  and  seed 

Shed  through  lier  at  this  her  need  : 
And  highest  in  heaven,  a  mother  and  full  of  grace. 

With  no  more  covered  face. 
With  no  more  lifted  hands  and  bended  knees, 

Rose,  as  from  sacred  seas 
Love,  when  old  time  was  full  of  plenteous  springs. 

That  fairest-born  of  things, 
The  land  that  holds  the  rest  in  tender  thrall 

For  love's  sake  in  them  all. 
That  binds  Avith  words  and  holds  with  eyes  and  hands 

All  hearts  in  all  men's  lands. 
So  died  the  dream  whence  rose  the  live  desire 

That  here  takes  form  and  fire. 
A  spirit  from  the  splendid  grave  of  sleep 

Risen,  that  ye  should  not  weeji. — 
Should  not  weep  more  nor  ever,  0  ye  that  hear, 

And  ever  have  held  her  dear. 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  249 

Seeing  now  indeed  she  weeiis  not  wlio  wept  sore, 

And  sleeps  not  any  more. 
Hearken  ye  towards   her,  0  people,  exalt  your  eyes  ; 

Is  this  a  thing  that  dies  ? 

Italia  !  by  the  passion  of  the  pain 

That  bent  and  rent  thy  chain  ; 
Italia  !  by  the  breaking-  of  the  bands, 

The  shaking  of  the  lands  ; 
Beloved,  0   men's  mother,  0  men's  queen. 

Arise,   appear,  be  seen  ! 
Arise,  array  thyself  in  manifold 

Queen's  raiment  of  wrought  gold  ; 
With  girdles  of  green  freedom,  and  with  red 

Roses,  and  white  snow  shed 
Above  the  flush  and  frondage  of  the  hills 

That  all  thy  deep  dawn  fills 
And  all  thy  clear  night  veils  and  warms  with  wings 

Spread  till  the  morning  sings  ; 
The  rose  of  resurrection,  and  the  bright 

Breast  lavish  of  the  light, 
The  lady  lily  like  the  snowy  sky 

Ere  the  stars  wholly  die  ; 
As  red  as  blood,  and  whiter  than  a  wave. 

Flowers  grown  as  from  tl)y  grave. 
From  the  green  fruitful  grass  in  May-time  hot. 

Thy  grave,  wliere  thou  art  not. 
Gather  the  grass  and  weave,  in  sacred  sign 

Of  the  ancient  earth  divine, 
The  holy  heart  of  things,  the  seed  of  birth, 

Tiie  mystical  warm  eartli. 
0  thou  her  flower  ot  flowers,  with  treble  braid 

Be  thy  sweet  head  arrayed. 
In  witness  of  her  mighty  motherhood 

Wlio  bore  thee  and  found  thee  good. 
Her  fairest-born  of  children,  on  whose  head 

Her  green  and  white  and  red 
Are  hope  and  light  and  life,  inviolate 

Of  any  latter  fate. 
Fly,  0  our  flag,  tli rough  deej)  Italian  air. 

Above  the  flags  that  were. 
The  dusty  shreds  of  shameful  battle-flags 

Trampled  and  rent  in  rags, 


250  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

As  withering  woods  in  antumn's  bitterest  breath 

Yellow,  and  black  as  death  ; 
Black  as  crushed  worms  that  sicken  in  the  sense, 

And  yellow  as  pestilence. 
Fly,  green  as  summer  and  red  as  dawn  and  white 

As  the  live  heart  of  light, 
The  blind  bright  womb  of  color  unborn,  that  brings 

Forth  all  fair  forms  of  things, 
As  freedom  all  fair  forms  of  nations  dyed 

In  divers-colored  pride. 
Fly  fleet  as  wind  on  every  wind  that  blows 

Between  her  seas  and  snows. 
From  Alpine  white,  from  Tuscan  green,  and  where 

Vesuvius  reddens  air. 
Fly  !  and  let  all  men  see  it,  and  all  kings  wail, 

And  priests  wax  faint  and  pale, 
And  the  cold  hordes  that  moan  in  misty  places 

And  the  funereal  races 
And  the  sick  serfs  of  lands  that  wait  and  wane 

See  thee  and  hate  thee  in  vain. 
In  the  clear  laughter  of  all  winds  and  waves. 

In  the  blown  grass  of  graves, 
In  the  long  sound  of  fluctuant  boughs  of  trees, 

In  the  broad  breath  of  seas. 
Bid  the  sound  of  thy  flying  folds  be  heard  ; 

And  as  a  spoken  word 
Full  of  that  fair  god  and  that  merciless 

Who  rends  the  Pythoness, 
So  be  the  sound  and  so  the  fire  that  saith 

She  feels  her  ancient  breath 
And  the  old  blood  move  in  her  immortal  veins. 

Strange  travail  and   strong  pains. 
Our  mother,  hast  thou  borne  these  many  years 

While  thy  pure  blood  and  tears 
Mixed  with  the  Tyrrhene  and  the  Adrian  sea. 

Light  things  were  said  of  thee, 
As  of  one  buried  deep  among  the  dead  ; 

Yea,  she  hath  been,  they  said. 
She  was  when  time  was  younger,  and  is  not  ; 

The  very  cerecloths  rot 
That  flutter  in  the  dusty  wind  of  death. 

Not  moving  with  her  breath  : 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  251 

Far  seasons  and  forgotten  years  enfold 

Her  dead  corpse  old  and  cold 
With  many  windy  winters  and  pale  springs  : 

She  is  none  of  this  world's  things. 
Though  her  dead  head  like  a  live  garland  wear 

The  golden-growing  hair 
That  flows  over  her  breast  down  to  her  feet. 

Dead  queens,  whose  life  w^as  sweet 
In  sight  of  all  men  living,  have  been  found 

So  cold,  so  clad,  so  crowned. 
With  all  tilings  faded  and  with  one  thing  fair, 

Their  old  immortal  hair, 
When  flesh  and  bone  turned  dust  at  touch  of  day  : 

And  she  is  dead  as  they . 

So  men  said  sadly,  mocking  ;  so  the  slave, 

Whose  life  was  his  soul's  grave  ; 
So,  pale  or  red  with  change  of  fast  and  feast. 

The  sanguine-sandalled  priest ; 
So  the  Austrian,  when  his  fortune  came  to  flood, 

And  the  warm  wave  was  blood  ; 
With  wings  that  widened  and  with  beak  that  smote, 

So  shrieked  through  either  throat 
From  the  hot  horror  of  its  northern  nest 

That  double-headed  pest ; 
So,  triple-crowned  with  fear  and  fraud  and  shame, 

He  of  whom  treason  came, 
The  herdsman  of  the  Gadarean  swine  ; 

So  all  his  ravening  kine, 
Made  fat  witli  poisonous  pasture  :  so  not  we, 

Mother,  beholding  thee. 
Make  answer,  0  the  crown  of  all  our  slain, 

Ye  that  were  one,  being  twain. 
Twain  brethren,  twin-born  to  the  second  birth, 

Chosen  out  of  all  our  earth 
To  be  the  prophesying  stars  that  say 

How  hard  is  night  on  day, 
Stars  in  serene  and  sudden  lieaven  re-risen 

Before  the  sun  break  prison 
And  ere  the  moon  be  wasted  ;  fair  first  flowers 

In  that  red  wreath  of  ours 
Woven  with  the  lives  of  all  wliose  lives  were  shed 

To  crown  th(;ir  mother's  head 


252  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

With  leaves  of  civic  cypress  and  thick  yew. 

Till  the  olive  bind  it  too, 
Olive  and  laurel  and  all  loftier  leaves 

That  victory  wears  or  weaves 
At  her  fair  feet  for  her  beloved  brow  ; 

Hear,  for  she  too  hears  now, 
0  Pisacane,  from  Calabrian  sands  ; 

0  all  heroic  hands 
Close  on  the  sword-hilt,  hands  of  all  her  dead  ; 

0  many  a  holy  head. 
Bowed  for  her  sake  even  to  her  reddening  dust.; 

0  chosen,  0  pure  and  just. 
Who  counted  for  a  small  thing  life's  estate. 

And  died,  and  made  it  great ; 
Ye  whose  names  mix  with  all  her  memories  ;  ye 

Who  ]-ather  chose  to  see 
Death,  than  our  more  intolerable  things  ; 

Thou  whose  name  Avithers  kings, 
Agesilao  ;  thou  too,  0  chiefliest  thou, 

The  slayer  of  splendid  brow, 
Laid  where  the  lying  lips  of  fear  deride 

The  foiled  tyrannicide. 
Foiled,  fallen,   slain,  scorned,   and  happy  ;  being  in 
fame, 

Felice,  like  thy  name, 
Not  like  thy  fortune  ;  father  of  the  fight. 

Having  in  hand  our  light. 
Ah,  happy  !  for  that  sudden-swerving  hand 

Flung  light  on  all  thy  land. 
Yea,  lit  blind  France  with  compulsory  ray. 

Driven  down  a  righteous  way  ; 
Ah,  happiest  !  for  from  thee  the  wars  began. 

From  thee  the  fresh  springs  ran  ; 
From  thee  the  lady  land  that  queens  the  earth 

Gat  as  she  gave  new  birth. 
0  sweet  mute  mouths,  0  all  fair  dead  of  ours. 

Fair  in  her  eyes  as  flowers. 
Fair  without  feature,  vocal  without  voice. 

Strong  without  strength,  rejoice  ! 
Hear  it  with  ears  that  hear  not,  and  on  eyes 

That  see  not  let  it  rise, 
Rise  as  a  sundawn  ;  be  it  as  dew  that  drips 

On  dumb  and  dusty  lips  ; 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  253 

Eyes  have  3'e  not,  and  see  it ;  neither  ears. 

And  there  is  none  but  hears. 
This  is  the  same  for  whom  ye  bled  and  wept ; 

She  was  not  dead,  but  slept. 
This  is  that  very  Italy  which  was 

And  is  and  shall  not  pass. 


But  thou  though  all  were  not  well  done, 
0  chief, 

Must  thou  take  shame  or  grief  ? 
Because  one  man  is  not  as  thou  or  ten, 

Must  thou  take  shame  for  men  ? 
Because  the  supreme  sunrise  is  not  yet, 

Is  the  young  dew  not  wet  ? 
Will  thou  not  yet  abide  a  little  while. 
Soul  without  fear  or  guile, 
Mazziui,  0  our  prophet,  0  our  priest, 

A  little  while  at  least ! 
A  little  hour  of  doubt  and  of  control. 

Sustain  tliy  sacred  soul. 
Withhold  thine  heart,  our  father,  but  an  hour  ; 

Is  it  not  here,  tlie  flower. 
Is  it  not  blown  and  fragrant  from  the  root. 

And  shall  not  yet  be  the  fruit  ? 
Thy  children,  even  thy  people  thou  hast  made. 

Thine,  with  thy  words  arrayed. 
Clothed  with  thy  thoughts  and  girt  with  thy  desires, 

Yearn  up  toward  thee  as  fires. 
Art  thou  not  father,  0  father,  of  all  these  ? 

From  thine  own  Genoese 
To  where  of  nights  the  lower  extreme  lagune 

Feels  its  Venetian  moon, 
Nor  suckling's  mouth  nor  mother's  breast  set  free 

But  hath  that  grace  through  thee. 
The  milk  of  life  on  deatlrs  unnatural  brink 

Thou  gavest  them  to  drink, 
The  natural  milk  of  freedom  ;  and  again 

Tliey  drank,  and  they  were  men. 
The  wine  and  honey  of  freedom  and  of  faith 

They  drank,  and  cast  ofl"  death. 
Boar  with  them  now  ;  thou  art  holier  :  yet  endure. 

Till  they  as  thou  be  pure. 


25J:  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

Their  swords  at  least   that  stemmed  half  Austria's 
tide 

Bade  all  its  biilk  divide  ; 
Else,  though  fate  bade  them  for  a  breath's  space  fall. 

She  had  not  fallen  at  all. 
Not  by  their  hands  they  made  time's  promise  true  ; 

Not  by  their  hands,  but  through. 
Nor  on  Custoza  ran  their  blood  to  waste. 

Nor  fell  their  fame  defaced 
Whom  stormiest  Adria  with  tumultuous  tides 

Whirles  undersea  and  hides. 
Not  his,  who  from  the  sudden-settling  deck 

Looked  over  death  and  wreck 
To  where  the  mother's  bosom  shone,  who  smiled 

As  he,  so  dying,  her  child  ; 
For  he  smiled  surely,  dying,  to  mix  his  death 

With  her  memorial  breath  ; 
Smiled,  being  most  sure  of  her,  that  in  no  wise, 

Die  whoso  will,  she  dies  : 
And  she  smiled  surely,  fair  and  far  above. 

Wept  not,  but  smiled  for  love. 
Thou  too,  0  splendor  of  the  sudden  sword 

That  drove  the  crews  abhorred 
From  Naples  and  the  siren-footed  strand. 

Flash  from  thy  master's  hand, 
Shine  from  the  middle  summer  of  the  seas 

To  the  old  ^Eolides, 
Outshine  their  fiery  fumes  of  burning  night, 

Sword,  with  thy  midday  light  ; 
Flame  as  a  beacon  from  the  Tyrrhene  foam 

To  the  rent  heart  of  Rome, 
From  the  island  of  her  lover  and  thy  lord. 

Her  savior  and  her  sword. 
In  the  fierce  year  of  failure  and  of  fame. 

Art  thou  not  yet  the  same 
That  wast  as  ligiitning  swifter  than  all  wings 

In  the  blind  face  of  kings  ? 
When  priests  took  counsel  to  devise  despair. 

And  princes  to  forswear. 
She  clasped  thee,  0  her  sword  and  flag-bearer 

And  staff  and  shield  to  her, 
0  Garibaldi  !  need  was  hers  and  grief, 

Of  thee  and  of  the  chief, 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  ^55 

And  of  another  girt  in  arms  to  stand 

As  good  of  hope  and  hand, 
As  liigh  of  soul  and  happy,  albeit  indeed 

The  heart  should  burn  and  bleed. 
So  but  the  spirit  sliake  not  nor  the  breast 

Swerve,  but  abide  its  rest. 
As  theirs  did  and  as  thine,  though  ruin  clomb 

The  highest  wall  of  Eonie, 
Though  treason  stained  and  spilt  her  lustral  water, 

And  slaves  led  slaves  to  slaughter. 
And   priests,   praying   and   slaying,  watched   them 
pass 

From  a  strange  France,  alas  ! 
That  was  not  freedom  ;  yet  when  these  were  past 

Thy  sword  and  thou  stood  fast, 
Till  new  men  seeing  thee  where  Sicilian  waves 

Hear  now  no  sound  of  slaves, 
And  where  thy  sacred  hlood  is  fragrant  still 

Upon  the  Bitter  Hill, 
Seeing  by  that  blood  one  country  saved  and  stained, 

Less  loved  thee  crowned  than  chained. 
And  less  now  only  than  the  chief  :  for  he, 

Father  of  Italy, 
Upbore  in  holy  hands  the  babe  new-born 

Through  loss  and  sorrow  and  scorn. 
Of  no  man  led,  of  many  men  reviled  ; 

Till,  lo  !  the  new-born  child 
Gone  from  between  his  hands,  and  in  its  place, 

Lo,  the  fair  mother's  face. 
Blessed  is  lie  of  all  men,  being  in  one 

As  father  to  her  and  son. 
Blessed  of  all  men  living,  that  he  found 

Her  weak  limbs  bared  and  bound, 
And  in  his  arms  and  in  his  bosom  bore. 

And  as  a  garment  wore 
Her  weight  of  want,  and  as  a  royal  dress 

Put  on  her  weariness. 
As  in  faith's  hoariest  histories  men  read. 

The  strong  man  bore  at  need 
Through  roaring  rapids  when  all  heaven  was  wild 

The  likeness  of  a  child 
That  still  waxed  greater  and  heavier  as  he  trod. 

And  altered,  and  was  (iod. 


256  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

Praise  him,  0  winds  that  move  the  molten  air, 

0  light  of  (lays  that  were, 
And  light  of  days  that  shall  be  ;  land  and  sea, 

And  heaven  and  Italy  : 
Praise  him,  0  storm  and  summer,  shore  and  wave, 

0  skies  and  every  grave  ; 
0  weeping  hopes,  0  memories  beyond  tears, 

0  many  and  murninring  years, 
0  sounds  far  off  in  time  and  visions  far, 

0  sorrow  with  thy  star. 
And  joy  with  all  thy  beacons  ;  ye  that  mourn. 

And  ye  whose  light  is  born  ; 
0  fallen  faces,  and  0  souls  arisen, 

Praise  him  from  tomb  and  prison, 
Praise  him  from  heaven  and  snnlight ;  and  ye  floods. 

And  windy  waves  of  woods  ; 
Ye  valleys  and  wild  vineyards,  ye  lit  lakes 

And  happier  hillside  brakes, 
Untrampled  by  the  accursed  feet  that  trod 

Fields  golden  from  their  god. 
Fields  of  their  god  forsaken,  whereof  none 

Sees  his  face  in  the  sun. 
Hears  his  voice  from  the  floweriest  wildernesses  ; 

And,  barren  of  his  tresses, 
Ye  bays  unplucked  and  laurels  nnintwined, 

That  no  men  break  or  bind. 
And  myrtles  long  forgetful  of  the  sword. 

And  olives  unadored, 
Wisdom  and  love,  white  hands  that  save  and  slay. 

Praise  him  ;  and  ye  as  they. 
Praise  him,  0  gracious  might  of  dews  and  rains 

That  feed  the  purple  plains, 
0  sacred  sunbeams  bright  as  bare  steel  drawn, 

0  cloud  and  fire  and  dawn  ; 
Ked  hills  of  flame,  white  Alps,  green  Apennines, 

Banners  of  blowing  pines. 
Standards  of  stormy  snows,  flags  of  light  leaves. 

Three  wherewith  Freedom  weaves 
One  ensign  that  once  woven  and  once  unfurled 

Makes  day  of  all  a  world. 
Makes   blind    their   eyes   who   knew    not,  and    out- 
braves 

The  waste  of  iron  waves  ; 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  257 

Ye  fields  of  yellow  fulness,  ye  fresh  fountains, 

And  mists  of  many  mountains  ; 
Ye  moons  and  seasons,  and  ye  days  and  nights  ; 

Ye  starry-headed  heights. 
And  gorges  melting  sunward  from  the  snow. 

And  all  strong  streams  that  flow, 
Tender  as  tears,  and  fair  as  faith,  and  pure 

As  hearts  made  sad  and  sure 
At  once  by  many  sufferings  and  one  love  ; 

0  mystic  deathless  dove 
Held  to  the  heart  of  earth  and  in  her  hands 

Cherished,  0  lily  of  lands. 
White  rose  of  time,  dear  dream  of  j^raises  past, — 

For  such  as  these  thou  wast, 
That  art  as  eagles  setting  to  the  sun. 

As  fawns  that  leap  and  run. 
As  a  sword  carven  with  keen  floral  gold, 

Sword  for  an  armed  god's  hold. 
Flower  for  a  crowned  god's  forehead, — 0  our  land, 

Reach  forth  thine  holiest  hand, 
0  mother  of  many  sons  and  memories, 

Stretch  out  thine  hand  to  his 
That  raised  and  gave  thee  life  to  run  and  leap 

When  thou  wast  full  of  sleep. 
That  touched  and  stung  thee  with  young  blood  and 
breath 

When  thou  wast  hard  on  death. 
Praise  him,  0  all  her  cities  and  her  crowns. 

Her  towers  and  thrones  of  towns  ; 
0  noblest  Brescia,  scarred  from  foot  to  head 

And  breast-deep  in  the  dead. 
Praise  him  from  rJl  the  glories  of  thy  graves 

That  yellow  ]\Iela  laves 
With  gentle  and  golden  water,  Avhose  fair  flood 

Ran  wider  with  thy  blood  : 
I'raise  him,  0  born  of  that  heroic  breast, 

0  nursed  thereat  and  blest, 
Verona,  fairer  than  thy  mother  fair. 

But  not  more  brave  to  bear  : 
Praise  him,  0  Milan,  whose  imperial  tread 

Bruised  once  the  German  head  ; 
Whose  might,  by  northern  swords  loft  desolate. 

Set  foot  on  fear  and  fate  : 
17 


258  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

Pniise  him,  0  long  mute  mouth  of  melodies, 

Mantua,  with  louder  keys. 
With  mightier  chords  of  music  even  than  rolled 

From  tlie  large  liarps  of  old, 
When    thy    sweet    singer    of    golden     throat    and 
tongue. 

Praising  his  tyrant,  sung  ; 
Though  now  thou  sing  not  as  of  other  days. 

Learn  late  a  better  praise. 
Not  with  the  sick  sweet  lips  of  slaves  that  sing, 

Praise  thou  no  priest  or  king. 
No  brow-bound  laurel  of  discolored  leaf. 

But  him,  the  crownless  chief. 
Praise  him,  0  star  of  sun-forgotten  times. 

Among  their  creeds  and  crimes 
That  wast  a  fire  of  witness  in  the  night, 

Padua,  the  wise  men's  light : 
Praise  him,  0  sacred  Venice,  and  the  sea 

That  now  exults  through  thee, 
Full  of  the  mighty  morning  and  the  sun. 

Free  of  things  dead  and  done  ; 
Praise  him  from  all  the  years  of  thy  great  grief, 

That  shook  thee  like  a  leaf 
With  winds  and  snows  of  torment,  rain  that  fell 

Red  as  the  rains  of  hell. 
Storms  of  black  thunder  and  of  yellow  flame. 

And  all  ill  things  but  shame  ; 
Praise  him   with  all  thy  holy  heart  and  strength  ; 

Through  thy  walls^  breadth  and  length 
Praise  him  with  all  thy  people,  that  their  voice 

Bid  the  strong  soul  rejoice, 
The  fair  clear  supreme  spirit  beyond  stain. 

Pure  as  the  depth  of  pain. 
High  as  the  head  of  suffering,  and  secure 

As  all  things  that  endure. 
More  than  thy  blind  lord  of  an  hundred  years 

Whose  name  our  memory  hears. 
Home-bound  from  harbors  of  the  Byzantine 

Made  tributary  of  thine, 
Praise  liim  wdio  gave  no  gifts  from  over-sea. 

But  gave  thyself  to  thee. 
0  motlier  Genoa,  througli  all  years  that  run, 

More  than  that  other  son, 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  259 

Who  first  beyond  the  seals  of  sunset  prest 

Even  to  the  unfooted  west, 
AVhose  black-blown  flag  scared  from  their  sheltering 
seas 

The  unknown  Atlantides, 
And  as  flame  climbs  through  cloud  and  vapor  clomb 

Through  streams  of  storm  and  foam, 
Till  half  in  sight  they  saw  land  heave  and  swim, — 

More  than  this  man  praise  him. 
One  found  a  world  new-born  from  virgin  sea  ; 

And  one  found  Italy. 
0  heavenliest  Florence,  from  the  mouths  of  flowers 

Fed  by  melodious  hours, 
From  each  sweet  mouth  that  kisses  light  and  air. 

Thou  whom  thy  fate  made  fair. 
As  a  bound  vine  or  any  flowering  tree. 

Praise  him  who  made  thee  free. 
For  no  grape-gatherers  tramjiling  out  the  wine 

Tread  thee,  the  fairest  vine  ; 
For  no  man  binds  thee,  no  man  bruises,  none 

Does  with  thee  as  these  have  done. 
Fi'om  where  spring  hears  loud  through  her  long  lit 
vales 

Triumphant  nightingales, 
lu  many  a  fold  of  fiery  foliage  hidden, 

Withheld  as  things  forbidden. 
But  clamorous  with  innumerable  delight 

In  May's  red,  green,  and  white. 
In  the  far-floated  standard  of  the  spring. 

That  bids  men  also  sing, 
Our  flower  of  flags,  our  witness  that  we  are  free, 

Our  lamp  for  land  and  sea  ; 
From  where  Majano  feels  tlirougli  corn  and  vine. 

Spring  move  and  melt  as  wine, 
And  Fiesole's  embracing  arms  enclose 

The  immeasurable  rose  ; 
From  hillsides  plumed  with  pine,  and  heights  wind- 
worn 

That  feel  the  refluent  morn, 
Or  where  the  moon's  face  warm  and  passionate 

Burns,  and  men's  heai'ts  grow  great. 
And  the  swoln  eyelids  labor  with  sweet  tears, 

And  in  their  burning  ears 


260  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

Sound   throbs  like   flame,  and   in   their   eyes   new 
light 

Kindles  the  trembling  night ; 
From  faint  illumined  fields  and  starry  valleys 

Wherefrom  the  hill-wind  sallies, 
From  Vallombrosa,  from  Valdarno  raise 

One  Tuscan  tune  of  praise. 
0  lordly  city  of  the  field  of  death. 

Praise  him  with  equal  breath, 
From  sleej^ing  streets  and  gardens,  and  the  stream 

That  threads  them  as  a  dream 
Threads  without  light  the  unravelled  ways  of  sleep 

With  eyes  that  smile  or  weep  ; 
From  the  sweet  sombre  beauty  of  wave  and  wall 

That  fades  and  does  not  fall  ; 
From  colored  domes  and  cloisters  fair  with  fame, 

Praise  thou  and  thine  his  name. 
Thou  too,  0  little  laurelled  town  of  towers, 

Clothed  with  the  flame  of  flowers, 
From  windy  ramparts  girdled  with  young  gold. 

From  thy  sweet  hillside  fold 
Of  wallflowers  and  the  acacia's  belted  bloom 

And  every  blowing  plume. 
Halls  that  saw  Dante  speaking,  chapels  fair 

As  the  outer  hills  and  air. 
Praise  him  who  feeds  the  fire  that  Dante  fed, 

Our  highest  heroic  head, 
AVhose  eyes  behold  through  floated  cloud  and  flame 

The  maiden  face  of  fame 
Like  April's  in  Valdelsa  ;  fair  as  flowers. 

And  patient  as  the  hours  ; 
Sad  with  slow  sense  of  time,  and  bright  with  faith 

That  levels  life  and  death  ; 
The  final  fame,  that  with  a  foot  sublime 

Treads  down  reluctant  time  ; 
The  fame  that  waits  and  watches  and  is  wise, 

A  virgin  with  chaste  eyes, 
A  goddess  Avho  takes  hands  with  great  men's  grief  ; 

Praise  her,  and  him,  our  chief. 
Praise  him,  0  Siena,  and  thou  her  deep  green  spring, 

0  Fonte  Brauda,  sing  : 
Shout  from  the  red  clefts  of  thy  fiery  crags, 

Shake  out  thy  flying  flags 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  261 

In  the  long  wind  that  streams  from  hill  to  hill  ; 

Bid  thy  full  music  fill 
The  desolate  red  waste  of  sunset  air 

And  fields  the  old  time  saw  fair, 
But  now  the  hours  ring  void  through  ruined  lands, 

Wild  work  of  mortal  hands  ; 
Yet  through  thy  dead  Maremma  let  his  name 

Take  flight  and  pass  in  flame, 
And  the  red  ruin  of  disastrous  hours 

Shall  quicken  into  flowers. 
Praise  him,  0  fiery  child  of  sun  and  sea, 

Naples,  who  bade  thee  be  ; 
For  till  he  sent  the  swords  that  scourge  and  save. 

Thou  wast  not,  but  thy  grave. 
But  more  than  all  these  praise  him  and  give  thanks. 

Thou,  from  thy  Tiber's  banks, 
From  all  thine  hills  and  from  thy  supreme  dome, — 

Praise  him,  0  risen  Rome  ! 
Let  all  thy  children  cities  at  thy  knee 

Lift  up  their  voice  with  thee. 
Saying,  "  For  thy  love's  sake  and  our  perished  grief 

We  laud  thee,  0  our  chief  !  " 
Saying,  "  For  thine  hand  and  help  when  ho2)e  Avas 
dead 

We  thank  thee,  0  our  head  !  " 
Saying,  "  For  thy  voice  and  face  within  our  sight 

We  bless  thee,  0  our  light ; 
For  waters  cleansing  us  from  days  defiled 

We  praise  thee,  0  our  child  !" 


So  with  an  hundred  cities'  mouths  in  one 

Praising  thy  supreme  son. 
Son  of  thy  sorrow,  0  mother,  0  maid  and  mother. 

Our  queen,  who  serve  none  other, 
Our  lady  of  pity  and  mercy,  and  full  of  grace, 

Turn  otlierwherc  thy  face, 
Turn  for  a  little  and  look  what  things  are  these 

Now  fallen  before  thy  knees  ; 
Turn  upon  theni  thine  eyes  who  hated  thee. 

Behold  what  things  they  be, 
Italia  :  these  are  stubble  that  were  steel, 

Pust,  or  a  turning  wheel  j 


262  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

As  leaves,  as  snow,  as  saud,  that  were  so  strong  ; 

And  howl,  for  all  their  song. 
And  wail,  for  all  their  wisdom  ;  they  that  were 

So  great,  they  are  all  stript  bare  ; 
They  are  all  made  empty  of  beauty,  and  all  abhorred  ; 

They  are  shivered,  and  their  sword  ; 
They  are  slain  who  slew,  they  are  heartless  who  were 
wise  ; 

Yea,  turn  on  these  thine  eyes, 
0  thou,  soliciting  with  soul  sublime 

The  obscure  soul  of  time. 
Thou,  with  the  wounds  thy  holy  body  bears 

From  broken  swords  of  theirs, 
Thou,  with  the  sweet  swoln  eyelids  that  have  bled 

Tears  for  thy  thousands  dead, 
And  upon  these,  whose  swords  drank  up  like  dew 

The  sons  of  thine  they  slew, 
These,  whose  each  gun  blasted  with  murdering  mouth 

Live  flowers  of  thy  fair  south. 
These,  whose  least  evil  told  in  alien  ears 

Turned  men's  whole  blood  to  tears, 
These,  whose  least  sin  remembered  for  jiure  shame 

Turned  all  those  tears  to  flame. 
Even  upon  these,  when  breaks  the  extreme  blow 

And  all  the  world  cries  woe. 
When  heaven  reluctant  rains  long-suffering  fire 

On  these  and  their  desire. 
When  his  wind  shakes  them  and  his  waters  whelm 

Who  rent  thy  robe  and  realm, 
When  they  that  poured  thy  dear  blood  forth  as  wine 

Pour  forth  their  own  for  thine. 
On  tliese,  on  these  have  mercy  ;  not  in  hate. 

But  full  of  sacred  fate. 
Strong  from  the  shrine  and  splendid  from  the  god. 

Smite,  with  no  second  rod. 
Because  they  spared  not,  do  thou  rather  spare  : 

Be  not  one  thing  they  were. 
Let  not  one  tongue  of  theirs  who  hate  thee  say 

That  thou  wast  even  as  they. 
Because  their  liands  were  bloody,  be  tliine  white  ; 

Show  liglit  where  they  shed  night  : 
Because  they  are  foul,  be  thou  the  rather  pure  ; 

Because  they  arc  feeble,  endure  j 


A  SONG  OF  ITALY.  263 

Because  they  had  uo  pity,  have  thou  pity. 

And  thou,  O  supreme  city, 
0  priestless  Rome  that  shalt  be,  take  iu  trust 

Their  names,  their  deeds,  their  dust. 
Who  held  life  less  than  thou  wert ;  be  the  least 

To  thee  indeed  a  i:)riest. 
Priest  and  burnt-offering  and  blood-sacrifice 

Given  without  prayer  or  price, 
A  holier  immolation  than  men  wist, 

A  costlier  eucharist, 
A  sacrament  more  saving  ;  bend  thine  head 

Above  these  many  dead 
Once,  and  salute  with  thine  eternal  eyes 

Their  lowest  head  that  lies. 
vSpeak  from  thy  lips  of  immemorial  speech 

If  but  one  word  for  each. 
Kiss  but  one  kiss  on  each  thy  dead  son's  mouth 

Fallen  dumb  or  nortli  or  south  ; 
And  laying  but  once  thine  hand  on  brow  and  breast, 

Bless  them,  through  whom  thou  art  blest. 
And  saying  in  ears  of  these  thy  dead  ''  Well  done," 

Shall  they  not  hear,  ''  0  son  ?" 
And  bowing  thy  face  to  theirs  made  pale  for  thee. 

Shall  the  shut  eyes  not  see  ? 
Yea,  through  the  hollow-hearted  world  of  death. 

As  light,  as  blood,  as  breath, 
Shall  there  not  flash  and  flow  the  fier}'  sense. 

The  pulse  of  prescience  ? 
Shall  not  these  know  as  in  times  overpast 

Thee  loftiest  to  the  last  ? 
For  times  and  wars  shall  change,  kingdoms  and  creeds, 

And  dreams  of  men,  and  deeds  ; 
Earth  shall  grow  gray  witli  all  her  golden  things. 

Pale  peoples  and  hoar  kings  ; 
But  though  her  thrones  and  towers  of  nations  fall, 

Deatli  has  no  part  in  all  ; 
In  the  air,  nor  iu  the  imperishable  sea, 

Nor  heaven,  nor  truth,  iu)r  thee. 
Yea,  let  all  sceptre-stricken  nations  lie, 

But  live  tliou  tliough  they  die  ; 
Let  their  flags  fade  as  flowers  that  storni  can  mar, 

But  thine  be  like  a  star  ; 


264  A  SONG  OF  ITALY. 

Let  England's,  if  it  float  not  for  men  free. 

Fall,  and  forget  the  sea  ; 
Let  France's,  if  it  shadow  a  hateful  head, 

Drop  as  a  leaf  drops  dead  ; 
Thine  let  what  storm  soever  smite  the  rest 

Smite  as  it  seems  him  best ; 
Thine  let  the  wind  that  can,  by  sea  or  land. 

Wrest  from  thy  banner-hand. 
Die  they  in  whom  dies  freedom,  die  and  cease. 

Though  the  world  weep  for  these  ; 
Live  thou,  and  love  and  lift  when  these  lie  dead 

The  green  and  white  and  red. 

0  our  Republic  that  shalt  bind  in  bands 

The  kingdomless  far  lands. 
And  link  the  chainless  ages  ;  thou  that  wast 

With  England  ere  she  past 
Among  the  faded  nations,  and  shalt  be 

Again,  when  sea  to  sea 
Calls  through  the  wind  and  light  of  morning  time. 

And  throneless  clime  to  clime 
Makes  antiphonal  answer  ;  thou  that  art 

Where  one  man's  perfect  heart 
Burns,  one  man's  brow  is  brightened  for  thy  sake, 

Thine,  strong  to  make  or  break  ; 
0  fair  Republic  hallowing  with  stretched  hands 

The  limitless  free  lands, 
Wlien  all  men's  heads  for  love,  not  fear,  bow  down 

To  thy  sole  royal  crown. 
As  thou  to  freedom  ;  when  man's  life  smells  sweet, 

And  at  tliy  bright  swift  feet 
A  bloodless  and  a  bondless  world  is  laid  ; 

Then,  when  thy  men  are  made. 
Let  these  indeed  as  we  in  dreams  behold 

One  chosen  of  all  thy  fold. 
One  of  all  fair  things  fairest,  one  exalt 

Above  all  fear  or  fault. 
One  unforgetful  of  unhappier  men 

And  us  who  loved  her  then  ; 
With  eyes  that  outlook  suns  and  dream  on  graves; 

With  voice  like  quiring  waves  ; 
AVith  heart  tlie  holier  for  their  memories'  sake 

Who  slept  that  she  might  wake  j 


THALASSIUS.  265 

With  breast  the  sweeter  for  that  sweet  blood  h^st. 

And  all  tlie  milkless  cost ; 
Lady  of  earth,  whose  large  equality 

Bends  but  to   her  and  thee  ; 
Equal  with  heaven,  and  infinite  of  years, 

And  splendid  from  quenched  tears  ; 
Strong  with  old  strength  of  great  things  fallen  and 
fled, 

Diviner  for  her  dead  ; 
Chaste  of  all  stains  and  perfect  from  all  scars. 

Above  all  storms  and  stars, 
All  winds  that  blow  through  time,   all    waves  that 
foam, — 

Our  Capitolian  Rome. 


THALASSIUS. 

Upon  the  flowery  forefront  of  the  year, 

One  wandering  by  the  gray-green  April  sea 

Found  on  a  reach  of  shingle  and  shallower  sand, 

Inlaid  with  starrier  glimmering  jewellery 

Left  for  the  sun's  love  and  the  liglit  wind's  cheer 

Along  the  foam-flowered  strand. 

Breeze-brightened,    sometliing   nearer  sea  than  land 

Though  the  last  shoreward  blossom-fringe  was  near, 

A  babe   asleep,   with  flower-soft  face   that  gleamed 

To  sun  and  seaward  as  it  laughed  and  dreamed. 

Too  sure  of  either  love  for  cither's  fear, 

Albeit  so  birdlike  slight  and  light,  it  seemed 

Nor  man,  nor  mortal  child  of  man,  but  fair 

As  even  its  twin-born  tenderer  spray-flowers  were. 

That  the  wind  scatters  like  an  Oread's  hair. 

For  when  July  strewed  fire  on  earth  and  sea 
The  last  time  ere  that  year, 
Out  of  the  flame  of  morn  C'ymothoe 
Beheld  one  brighter  than  the  sun-bright  sphere 
Move   toward  her    from    its   fieriest   heart,    whence 

trod 
The  live  sun's  very  god, 
Across  the  foam-bright  water-ways  tliat  are 
As  heavenlier  heavens,  witli  star  for  answering  star  ; 


266  THALASSIUS. 

Aiid  on  her  eyes  and  hair  and  maiden  mouth 
Felt  a  kiss  falling  fierier  than  the  80 all i, 
And  lieard  above  afar 

A  noise  of  songs  and  wind-enamored  wings, 
And  lutes  and  lyres  of  milder  and  mightier  strings, 
And  round  the  resonant  radiance  of  his  car 
Where  depth  is  one  with  height, 
Light  heard  as  music,  music  seen  as  light ; 
And  with  that  second  moondawn  of  the  spring's 
That  fosters  the  first  rose, 
A  sun-child  whiter  than  the  sunlit  snows 
Was  born  out  of  the  world  of  sunless  things 
That  round  the    round  earth  flows  and  ebbs  and 
flows. 

But  he  that  found  the  sea-flower   by  the  sea. 
And  took  to  foster  like  a  graft  of  earth. 
Was   born    of  man's  most  highest  and    heavenliest 

birth, 
Free-born  as  winds  and  stars  and  waves  are  free  ; 
A  warrior  gray  with  glories  more  than  years. 
Though  more  of  years  than  change  the  quick   to 

dead 
Had  rained  their  light  and  darkness  on  his  head ; 
A  singer  that  in  time's  and  memory's  ears 
Should  leave  such  words  to  sing  as  all  his  peers 
Might  praise  with  hallowing  heat  of  rapturous  tears, 
Till  all  the  days  of  human  flight  were  fled. 
And  at  his  knees  his  fosterling  was  fed. 
Not  with  man's  wine  and  bread. 
Nor  mortal  mother-milk  of  hopes  and  fears. 
But  food  of  deep  memorial  days  long  sped  ; 
For  bread  with  wisdom,  and  with  song  for  wine, 
Clear  as  the  full  calm's  emerald  hyaline. 
And  from  his  grave  glad  lips  the  boy  would  gather 
Fine  honey  of  song-notes,  goldener  than  gold, 
More  sweet  than  bees  make  of  the  breathing  heather, 
That  he,  as  glad  and  bold. 

Might  drink  as  they,  and  keep  his  spirit  from  cold. 
And  the  boy  loved  his  laurel-laden  hair 
As  his  own  father's  risen  on  the  eastern  air, 
And  that  less  white  brow-binding  bay-leaf  bloom. 
More  than  all  flowers  his  father's  eyes  relume  j 


THALASSIU9.  ^67 

And  those  high  songs  he  heard, 

More  than  all  notes  of  any  landward  bird. 

More  than  all  sounds  less  free 

Than  the  wind's  quiring  to  the  choral  sea. 

High  things  the  high  song  taught  him  :  how  the 

breath. 
Too  frail  for  life,  may  be  more  strong  than  death  ; 
And  this  poor  flash  of  sense  in  life,  that  gleams 
As  a  ghost's  glory  in  dreams. 
More    stabile    than    the   world's    own  heart's    root 

seems. 
By  that  strong  faith  of  lordliest  love,  which  gives 
To  death's  own  sightless-seeming  eyes  a  light 
Clearer,  to  death's  bare  bones  a  verier  might. 
That  shines  or  strikes  from  any  man  that  lives  ; 
How  he  that  loves  life  overmuch  shall  die 
The  dog's  death,  utterly  ; 
And  he  that  much  less  loves  it  than  he  hates 
All  wrong-doing  that  is  done, 
Anywhere  always  underneath  the  sun. 
Shall  live  a  mightier  life  than  time's  or  fate's. 
One  fairer  thing  he  showed  him,  and  in  might 
More  strong  than  day  and  night, 
Whose  strengths  build  uptime's  towering  period  ; 
Yea,  one  thing  stronger  and  more  high  than  God, 
Which,  if  man  had  not,  then  should  God  not  be  : 
And  that  was  Liberty. 

And  gladly  should  man  die  to  gain,  he  said, 
Freedom  ;  and  gladlier,  having  lost,  lie  dead. 
For  man's  earth  was  not,  nor  the  sweet  sea-waves 
His,  nor  his  own  land,  nor  its  very  graves. 
Except  they  bred  not,  bore  not,  hid  not  slaves  : 
But  all  of  all  that  is, 
Were  one  man  free  in  body  and  soul,  were  his. 

And  the  song  softened,  even  as  heaven  by  night 
Softens,  from  sunnier  down  to  starrier  light, 
And  with  its  moon-bright  breath 
Blessed    life   for  death's  sake,  and    for    life's    sake 

death  ; 
Till  as  the  moon's  own  beam  and  breath  confuse. 
In  one  clear  hueless  haze  of  glimmering  hues, 


268  THALASSIUS. 

The  sea's  line,  and  the  land's  line,  and  the  sky's, 
And  liglit  for  love  of  darkness  almost  dies, 
As  darkness  only  lives  for  light's  dear  love, 
Whose  liands  the  robe  of  night  is  woven  of  : 
So  in  that  heaven  of  wondrous  words  were  life 
And  death  brought  out  of  strife  ; 
Yea,  by  that  strong  sjjell  of  serene  increase. 
Brought  out  of  strife  to  peace. 

And  the  song  lightened,  as  the  wind  at  morn 
Flashes,  and  even  with  lightning  of  the  wind 
Night's  thick-spun  web  is  thinned, 
And  all  its  weft  unwoven  and  overworn 
Shrinks,  as  might  love  from  scorn. 
And  as  when  wind  and  light,  on  Avater  and  land, 
Leap  as  twin  gods  from  heavenward  hand  in  hand, 
And  with  tlie  sound  and  splendor  of  their  leap 
Strike  darkness  dead,  and  daunt  the  spirit  of  sleep, 
And  burn  it  up  with  fire  ; 

So  with  the  light  that  liglitened  from  the  lyre. 
Was  all  the  bright  heat  in  the  child's  heart  stirred, 
And  blown  with  blasts  of  music  into  flame. 
Till  even  his  sense  became 
Fire,  as  the  sense  that  fires  the  singing  bird. 
Whose  song  calls  night  by  name. 
And  in  the  soul  within  the  sense  began 
The  manlike  passion  of  a  godlike  man, 
And  in  the  sense  within  the  soul  again 
Thoughts  that  made  men  of  gods,  and  gods  of  men. 

For  love   the   high    song  taught  him, — love  that 
turns 
God's  heart  toward  man  as  man's  to  Godward  ;  love 
That  life  and  death  and  life  are  fashioned  of, 
From  the  first  breath  tliat  burns 
Half-kindled  on  the  flower-like  yeanling's  lip 
So  light  and  faint  that  life  seems  like  to  slip. 
To  that  yet  weaklier  drawn 
"When  sunset  dies    of  night's    devouring  dawn  ; 
But  the  man  dying  not  wholly  as  all  men  dies 
If  aught  be  left  of  his  in  live  men's  eyes 
Out  of  the  dawnless  dark  of  death  to  rise  : 


THALASSIUS.  ^69 

If  aiiglit  of  deed  or  word 

Be  seen  for  all  time,  or  of  all  time  heard. 

Love,  that  though  body  and  soul  were  overthrown, 

Should  live  for  love's  sake  of  itself  ulone. 

Though  spirit  and  flesh  were  one  thing  doomed  and 

dead, 
Not  wholly  annihilated. 

Seeing  even  the  hoariest  ash-flake  that  the  pyre 
Drops,  and  forgets  the  thing  was  once  afire. 
And  gave  its  heart  to  feed  the  pile's  full  flame 
Till  its  own  heart  its  own  heat  overcame. 
Outlives  its  own  life,  though  by  scarce  a  span, 
As  such  men  dying  outlive  themselves  in  man, 
Outlive  themselves  forever  ;  if  the  heat 
Outburn  the  heart  that  kindled  it,  the  sweet 
Outlast  tlie  flower  whose  soul  it  was,  and  flit 
Forth  of  the  body  of  it 
Into  some  new  shape  of  a  strange  perfume 
More  potent  than  its  light  live  spirit  of  bloom, — 
How  shall  not  something  of  that  soul  re-live, 
That  only  soul  that  had  such  gifts  to  give 
As  lighten  something  even  of  all  men's  doom^ 
Even  from  the  laboring  womb, 
Even  to  the  seal  set  on  the  unopening  tomb  ? 
And  these  the  loving  light  of  song  and  love 
Shall  wrap  and  lap  round,  and  impend  above. 
Imperishable  ;  and  all  springs  born  illume 
Their  sleep  with   brighter  thoughts  than  wake    tlie 

dove 
To  music,  when  the  hillside  winds  resume 
The  marriage-song  of  heather-flower  and  broom 
And  all  the  joy  thereof. 


And  hate  the  song,  too,  taught  him, — hate  of  all 
That  brings  or  holds  in  thrall 
Of  sjMrit  or  flesh,  free-born  ere  God  began, 
Tlie  holy  body  and  sacred  soul  of  man. 
And  wlieresoevcr  a  curse  was,  or  a  chain, 
A  throne  for  torment  or  a  crown  for  bane 
Kose,  moulded  out  of  poor  men's  molten  pain. 
There,  said  he,  should  man's  licaviest  hate  be  set 
Inexorably,  to  faint  not  or  forget 


S70  THALASSIUS. 

Till  the  lust  warmth  bled  forth  of  the  last  vein 
In  flesh  that  none  should  call  a  king's  again. 
Seeing  wolves  and  dogs  and  birds  that  plague-strike 

air 
Leave  the  last  bone  of  all  the  carrion  bare. 

And   hope   the     high    song    taught    him, — hope 
whose  eyes 
Can  sound  the  seas  unsoundable,  the  skies 
Inaccessible  of  eyesight  ;  that  can  see 
What  earth  beholds  not,  liear  what  wind  and  sea 
Hear  not,  and  sj)eak  what  all  these  crying  in  one 
Can  speak  not  to  the  sun. 
For  in  her  sovereign  eyelight  all  things  are 
Clear  as  the  closest  seen  and  kindlier  star 
That  marries  morn  and  even  and  winter  and  spring 
AYith  one  love's  o;olden  rinsf. 
ror  she  can  see  the  days  of  man,  the  birth 
Of  good,  and  death  of  evil  things  on  earth 
Inevitable  and  infinite,  and  sure 
As  present  pain  is,  or  herself  is  pure. 
Yea,  she  can  hear  and  see,  beyond  all  things 
That  lighten  from  before  Time's  thunderous  wings 
Through  the  awful  circle  of  wheelwinged  periods, 
The  tempest  of  the  twilight  of  all  gods  ; 
And,  higher  than  all  the  circling  course  they  ran, 
The  sundawn  of  the  spirit  that  was  man. 

And  fear  the  song,  too,  taught  him, — fear  to  be 
Worthless  the  dear  love  of  the  wind  and  sea 
That  bred  him  fearless,  like  a  sea-mew  reared 
111  rocks  of  man's  foot  feared, 
Where  naught  of  wingless  life  may  sing  or  shine. 
Fear  to  wax  worthless  of  that  heaven  he  had 
When  all  the  life  in  all  his  limbs  was  glad, 
And  all  the  drops  in  all  his  veins  were  wine. 
And  all  the  pulses  music  ;  when  his  heart. 
Singing,  bade  heaven  and  wind  and  sea  bear  part 
In  one  live  song's  reiterance,  and  they  bore  : 
Fear  to  go  crownless  of  the  flower  he  wore 
When  the  winds  loved  him,  and  the  waters  knew 
The  blithest  life  that  clove  their  blithe  life  through 


THALASSIUS.  OT 

With  living  limbs  exultant,  or  held  strife 
More  amorous  than  all  dalliance  aye  anew 
With  the  bright  breath  and   strength   of  their  large 

life, 
With    all  strong  Avrath  of  all  sheer  winds  that  blew, 
All  glories  of  ail  storms  of  the  air  that  fell 
Prone,  ineluctable. 

With  roar  from  heaven  of  revel,  and  with  hue 
As  of  a  heaven  turned  hell. 

Foi-  when  the  red  blast  of  their  breath  had  made 
All  heaven  aflash  with  light  more  dire  than  shade, 
He  felt  it  in  his  blood  and  eyes  and  hair 
Burn  as  if  all  the  fires  of  the  earth  and  air 
Had  laid  strong  hold  upon  his  flesh,  and  stung 
The  soul  behind  it  as  with  serpent's  tongue, 
Forked  like  the  loveliest  lightnings  :  nor  coukl  bear 
But  hardly,  half  distraught  with  strong  deliglit, 
Tiie  joy  that  like  a  garment  wrapped  him  round, 
And  lapped  him  over  and  under 
With  raiment  of  great  light. 
And  rapture  of  great  sound 
At  every  loud  leap  earthward  of  the  thunder 
From  heaven's  most  furthest  bound  : 
So  seemed  all  heaven  in  hearing  and  in  sight. 
Alive  and  mad  with  glory  and  angry  Joy, 
That  something  of  its  marvellous  mirth  and  might 
Moved  even  to  madness,  fledged  as  even  for  flight. 
The  blood  and  spirit  of  one  but  mortal  boy. 

So,  clothed  with  love,  and  fear  that  love  makes 
great. 
And  armed  with  hope  and  hate. 
He  set  first  foot  upon  the  spring-flowered  ways 
Tluit  all  feet  pass  and  praise. 

And  one  dim  dawn  between  the  winter  and  spring. 
In  tlie  sharp  harsh  wind  harrying  heaven  and  earth 
To  put  back  April  that  had  borne  his  birth 
From  sunward  on  her  suuTiiest  showerstruck  wing. 
With  tears  and  laughter  for  the  dewdropt  thing. 
Slight  as  indeed  a  dewdrop,  by  the  sea 
One  met  him  lovelier  than  all  men  nniy  be. 
God-featured,  with  god's  eyes  ;  and  in  theii-  might 
Somewhat  that  drew  men's  own  to  mar  tlieir  sight, 


272  THALASSIUS. 

Even  of  all  eyes  drawn  toward  him  ;  and  his  month 

Was  as  the  very  rose  of  all  men's  youth. 

One  rose  of  all  the  rose-beds  in  the  world  : 

But  round    his   brows   the   curls   were   snakes   that 

curled, 
And  like  his  tongue  a  serpent's  ;  and  his  voice 
Speaks  death,  and  bids  rejoice. 
Yet  then  he  spuke  no  word,  seeming  as  dumb, 
A  dumb  thing  mild  and  hurtless  ;  nor  at  first 
From  his  bowed  eyes  seemed  any  light  to  come, 
Nor  his  meek  lips  for  blood  or  tears  to  thirst  : 
But  as  one  blind  and  mute  in  mild,  sweet  wise. 
Pleading  for  pity  of  piteous  lips  and  eyes, 
He  strayed  with  faint,  bare,  lily-lovely  feet, 
Helpless,  and  flower-like  sweet : 
Nor  might  man  see,  not  having  word  hereof, 
That  this  of  all  gods  was  the  great  god  Love. 

And  seeing  him  lovely  and  like  a  little  child 
That  well-nigh  wept  for  wonder  that  it  smiled. 
And  was  so  feeble  and  fearful,  with  soft  speech 
The  youth  bespake  him  softly  ;  but  there  fell 
From  the  sweet  lips  no  sweet  word  audible 
That  ear  or  thought  might  reach  ; 
No  sound  to  make  the  dim  cold  silence  glad. 
No  breath  to  thaw  the  hard  harsh  air  with  heat ; 
Only  the  saddest  smile  of  all  things  sweet, 
Only  the  sweetest  smile  of  all  things  sad. 

And  so  they  went  together  one  green  way 
Till  April  dying  made  free  the  world  for  May  ; 
And  on  his  guide  suddenly  Love's  face  turned. 
And  in  his  blind  eyes  burned 
Hard  light  and  heat  of  laughter  ;  and  like  flame 
That  opens  in  a  mountain's  ravening  mouth 
To  blear  and  sear  the  sunlight  from  the  south. 
His  mute  mouth  opened,  and  his  first  word  came  : 
"  Knowest  thou  me  now  by  name  ?" 
And  all  his  stature  waxed  immeasurable, 
As  of  one  shadowing  heaven  and  lightening  hell  ; 
And  statelier  stood  he  than  a  tower  that  stands 
And  darkens  with  its  darkness  far-off  sands 


THALASSIUS.  273 

Whereou  the  sky  leans  red  ; 

And  with  a  voice  that  stilled  the  winds  he  said, — 
"  I  am  he  that  was  thy  lord  before  thy  birth, 
I  am  he  that  is  thy  lord  till  thou  turn  earth  : 
I  make  the  night  more  dark,  and  all  the  morrow 
Dark  as  the  night  whose  darkness  was  my  breath  : 
0  fool,  my  name  is  Sorrow  : 
Thou  fool,  my  name  is  Death." 

And  he  that  heard  spake  not,  and  looked  right  on 
Again,  and  Love  was  gone. 

Through  many  a  night,  toward  many  a  wearier 
day, 
His  spirit  bore  his  body  down  its  way. 
Through  many  a  day,  toward  many  a  wearier  night, 
His  soul  sustained  his  sorrows  in  her  sight. 
And  earth  was  bitter,  and  heaven,  and  even  the  sea, 
Sorrowful  even  as  he. 

And  the  wind  helped  not,  and  the  sun  was  dumb  ; 
And  with  too  long  strong  stress  of  grief  to  be. 
His  heart  grew  sear  and  numb. 

And  one  bright  eve  ere  summer  in  autumn  sank, 
At  star-dawn  standing  on  a  gray  sea-bank 
He  felt  the  wind  fitfully  shift  and  heave 
As  toward  a  stormier  eve  ; 

And  all  the  wan  wide  sea  shuddered  ;  and  earth 
Shook  underfoot,  as  toward  some  timeless  birth. 
Intolerable  and  inevitable  ;  and  all 
Heaven,  darkling,  trembled  like  a  stricken  thrall ; 
And  far  out  of  the  quivering  east,  and  far 
From  past  the  moonrise  and  its  guiding  star, 
Began  a  noise  of  tempest,  and  a  light 
That  was  not  of  the  lightning  ;  and  a  sound 
Rang  with  it  round  and  round. 
That  was  not  of  the  thunder  ;  and  a  flight 
As  of  blown  clouds  by  night, 

That  was  not  of  them  ;  and  with  songs  and  cries 
That  sang  and  shrieked  their  soul  out  at  the  skies, 
A  shapeless  earthly  storm  of  shapes  began 
From  all  ways  round  to  move  in  on  the  man, 
i3 


274  THALASSIUS. 

Clamorous  against  him  silent  ;  and  their  feet 

Where  as  the  winds  are  fleet, 

And  their  shrill  songs  were  as  wild  birds'  are  sweet. 

And  as  when  all  the  world  of  earth  was  wronged, 
And  all  the  host  of  all  men  driven  afoam 
By  the  red  hand  of  Rome, 
Round  some  fierce  amphitheatre  over-thronged 
With  fair  clear  faces  full  of  bloodier  lust 
Tlian  swells  and  stings  the  tiger  when  his  mood 
Is  fieriest  after  blood. 

And  drunk  with  trampling  of  the  murderous  must 
Tliat  soaks  and  stains  the  tortuous  close-coiled  wood 
Made  monstrous  with  its  myriad-mustering  brood, 
Face  by  fair  face  panted  and  gleamed  and  pressed. 
And  breast  by  passionate  breast 
Heaved  hot  with  ravenous  rapture,  as  they  quaffed 
The  red  ripe  full  fume  of  the  deep  live  draught. 
The  sharp  quick  reek  of  keen  fresh  bloodshed,  blown 
Through  the  dense   deep  drift  up  to  the  emperor's 

throne 
From  the  under  steaming  sands. 
With  clamor  of  all-applausive  throats  and  hands. 
Mingling  in  mirthful  time 
With   shrill,  blithe    mockeries   of   the   lithe-limbed 

mime  ; 
So  from  somewhence  far  forth  of  the  unbeholden, 
Dreadfully  driven  from  over  and  after  and  under, 
Fierce,    blown    through    fifes   of   brazen   blast   and 

golden. 
With    sound    of    chiming    waves    that    drown   the 

thunder. 
Or  thunder  that  strikes  dumb  the  sea's  own  chimes. 
Began  the  bellowing  of  the  bull-voiced  mimes, 
Terrible  ;  firs  bowed  down  as  briers  or  palms 
Even  at  the  breathless  blast  as  of  a  breeze 
Fulfilled   with    clamor   and   clangor  and   storms  of 

psalms  ; 
Red  hands  rent  up  the  roots  of  old-world  trees. 
Thick  flames  of  torches  tossed  as  tumbling  seas 
Made  mad  the  moonless  and  infuriate  air 
That,  ravening,  revelled  in  tlie  riotous  hair 
And  raiment  of  the  furred  Bassarides. 


THALASSIUS.  2T5 

So  came  all  those  in  on  him  ;  and  his  heart, 
As  out  of  sleep  suddenly  sti'uck  a-start, 
Danced,  and  his  flesh  took  fire  of  theirs,  and  grief 
Was  as  a  last  year's  leaf 

Blown  dead  far  down  the  wind's  way  ;  and  he  set 
His  pale  mouth  to  the  brightest  mouth  it  met 
That  laughed  for  love  against  his  lips,  and  bade 
Follow  ;  and  in  following,  all  his  blood  grew  glad 
And  as  again  a  seabird's  ;  for  the  wind 
Took  him  to  bathe  him  deep  round  breast  and  brow  ; 
Not  as  it  takes  a  dead  leaf  drained  and  thinned, 
But  as  the  brightest  bay-flower  blown  on  bough, 
Set  springing  toward  it  singing  :  and  they  rode 
By  many  a  vine-leafed,  many  a  rose-hung  road. 
Exalt  with  exaltation  ;  many  a  night 
Set  all  its  stars  upon  them  as  for  spies 
On  many  a  moon-bewildering  mountain  height 
AVhere  he  rode  only  by  the  fierier  light 
Of  his  dread  lady's  hot,  sweet  hungering  eyes. 
For  the  moon  wandered  witless  of  her  way. 
Spell-stricken  by  strong  magic  in  such  wise 
As  wizards  use  to  set  the  stars  astray. 
And  in  his  ears  the  music  that  makes  mad 
Beat  always  ;  and  what  way  the  music  bade. 
That  alway  rode  he  ;  nor  was  any  sleep 
His,  nor  from  height  nor  deep. 
But  heaven  was  as  red  iron,  slumberless, 
And  had  no  heart  to  bless  ; 
And  earth  lay  sear  and  darkling  as  distraught, 
And  help  in  her  was  naught. 

Then  many  a  midnight,  many  a  morn  and  even, 
His  mother,  passing  forth  of  her  fair  heaven, 
Witli  goodlier  gifts  and  all  save  gods  can  give 
From  earth  or  from    the  heaven   where  sea-things 

live. 
With  shine  of  sea-flowers  through  the  bay-leaf  liraid 
Woven  for  a  crown  her  foam-white  hands  had  made 
To  crown  him  with  land's  laurel  and  sea  dew. 
Sought  the  sea-bird  that  was  her  boy  :  but  ho 
Sat  panther-throned  beside  Erigone, 
Riding  tlie  red  ways  of  tlie  revel  through 
Midmost  of  pale-mouthed  passion's  crownless  crew. 


276  THALASSIUS. 

Till  on  some  winter's  dawn  of  some  dim  year 

He  let  the  vine-bit  on  the  panther's  lip 

Slide,  and  the  green  rein  slip, 

And  set  his  eyes  to  seaward,  nor  gave  ear 

If  sound  from  landward  hailed  him,  dire  or  dear  ; 

And  passing  forth  of  all  those  fair  fierce  ranks 

Back  to  the  gray  sea-banks. 

Against  a  sea-rock  lying,  aslant  the  steep, 

Fell  after  many  sleepless  dreams  on  sleep. 

And  in  his  sleep  the  dun  green  light  was  shed 
Heavily  round  his  head 

That  through  the  vale  of  se^  falls  fathom-deep. 
Blurred  like  a  lamp's  that  when  the  night  drops 

dead 
Dies  ;  and  his  eyes  gat  grace  of  sleep  to  see 
The  deep  divine  dark  day-shine  of  the  sea, 
Dense  water-walls  and  clear  dusk  water-Avays, 
Broad-based,  or  branching  as  a  sea-flower  sprays 
That  side  or  this  dividing  ;  and  anew 
The  glory  of  all  her  glories  that  he  knew. 
And  in  sharp  rapture  of  recovering  tears 
He  Avoke  on  fire  with  yearnings  of  old  years, 
Pure  as  one  purged  of  pain  that  passion  bore, 
111  child  of  bitter  mother  ;  for  his  own 
Looked    laughing    toward   him    from    her   mid-sea 

throne. 
Up  toward  him  there  ashore. 

Thence  in  his  heart  the  great  same  joy  began, 
Of  child  that  made  him  man. 
And,  turned  again  from  all  hearts  else  on  quest, 
He  communed  with  his  own  heart,  and  had  rest. 
And  like  the  sea-winds  upon  loud  waters  ran 
His  days  and  dreams  together,  till  the  joy 
Burned  in  him  of  the  boy  ; 
Till  the  earth's  great  comfort  and  the  sweet  sea's 

breath 
Breathed    and   blew   life    in    where    was   heartless 

death, — 
Death  spirit-stricken  of  soul-sick  days,  where  strife 
Of  thought  and  flesh  made  mock  of  death  and  life. 


THALASSIUS.  277 

And  grace  returned  upon  him  of  his  birth 

Where  heaven  was  mixed   with  heaveulike  sea  and 

earth  ; 
And  song  short  forth  strong  wings  that  took  the  sun 
From   inward,  fledged    with   might   of  sorrow   and 

mirth, 
And  father's  fire  made  mortal  in  his  son. 
Nor  was  not  spirit  of  strengtli  in  blast  and  breeze 
To  exalt  again  the  sun's  child  and  the  sea's  ; 
For,  as  wild  mares  in  Thessaly  grow  great 
With  child  of  ravishing  winds,  that  violate 
Their  leaping  length  of  limb  with  manes  like  fire, 
And  eyes  outburning  heaven's 
With  fires  more  violent  than  the  lightiiing  levin's, 
And  breath  drained  out  and  desperate  of  desire. 
Even  so  the  spirit  in  him,  when  winds  grew  strong, 
Grew  great  with  child  of  song. 
Nor  less  than  when  his  veins  first  leapt  for  joy 
To  draw  delight  in  such  as  burns  a  boy, 
Now,  too,  the  soul  of  all  his  senses  felt 
The  passionate  pride  of  deep  sea-pulses  dealt 
Through  nerve  and  jubilant  vein 
As  from  the  love  and  largess  of  old  time  ; 
And  with  his  heart  again 
The  tidal  throb  of  all  the  tides  keep  rhyme. 
And  charm  him  from  his  own  soul's  separate  sense 
With  infinite  and  invasive  influence, 
That  made  strength  sweet  in   him,  and  sweetness 

strong. 
Being  now  no  more  a  singer,  but  a  song. 

Till  one  clear  day,  when  l)righter  sea-wind  blew. 
And  louder  sea-shine  lightened,  for  the  waves 
Were  full  of  godhead  and  the  light  that  saves. 
His    father's    and    their    spirit   had    pierced    him 

through. 
He  felt  strange  breath  and  light  all  round  him  shed 
That  bowed  him  down  with  rapture  ;  and  he  knew 
His  father's  hand,  hallowing  his  humbled  head. 
And  the  old  great  voice  of  the  old  good  time,  that 
said  : 

''Child  of  my  sunlight,  and  the  sea,  from  bivtU 
A  fosterling  mA.  fugitivo  on  earth  ', 


278  HERSE. 

Sleepless  of  soul  as  wiml  or  wave  or  fire, 
A  man-child  with  aii  ungrowii  god's  desire  ; 
Because  thou  hast  loved  not  mortal  more  than  me, 
Thy  fiither,  and  thy  mother-hearted  sea  ; 
Because  thou  hast  set  thine  heart  to  sing,  and  sold 
Life  and  life's  love  for  song.  God's  living  gold  ; 
Because  thou  hast  given  thy  flower  and  fire  of  youth 
To  feed  men's  hearts  with  visions  truer  than  truth  ; 
Because  thou  hast  kept  in   those  world-wandering 

eyes 
The  light  that  makes  me  music  of  the  skies  ; 
Because  thou  hast  heard,  with  world-unwearied  ears, 
The  music  that  puts  light  into  the  spheres, — 
Have  therefore  in  thine  heart  and  in  thy  mouth 
The  sound  of  song  that  mingles  north  and  south. 
The  song  of  all  the  winds  that  sing  of  me. 
And  in  thy  soul  the  sense  of  all  the  sea." 


HERSE. 

When  grace  is  given  us  ever  to  behold 

A  child  some  sweet  months  old, 
Love,  laying  across  our  lips  his  finger,  saith. 

Smiling,  with  hated  breath, 
Hush  !  for  the  holiest  thing  that  lives  is  here, 

And  heaven's  own  heart  how  near  ! 
How  dare  we,  that  may  gaze  not  on  the  sun. 

Gaze  on  this  verier  one  ? 
Heart,    hold   thy   peace  ;    eyes,    be    cast    down   for 
shame  ; 

Lips,  breathe  not  yet  its  name. 
In  heaven  they  know  what  name  to  call  it :  we, 
How  should  we  know  ?     For,  see  ! 
The  adorable  sweet  living  marvellous 

Strange  light  that  lightens  us 
Who  gaze,  desertless  of  such  glorious  grace, 

Full  in  a  babe's  warm  face  ! 
All  roses  that  the  morning  rears  are  naught, 

All  stars  not  worth  a  thought. 
Set  this  one  star  against  them,  or  suppose 

As  rival  this  one  rose. 


HERSE.  279 

What  price  could  pay  with  earth's  whole  weight  of 
gold 

One  least  flushed  roseleaf's  fold 
Of  all  this  dimpling  store  of  smiles  that  shine 

From  each  warm  curve  and  line, 
Each  charm  of  flower-sweet  flesh,  to  re-illume 

The  dappled  rose-red  bloom 
Of  all  its  dainty  body,  honey-sweet, 

Clenched  hands  and  curled-up  feet. 
That  on  the  roses  of  the  dawn  have  trod 

As  they  came  down  from  God, 
And  keep  the  flush  and  color  that  the  sky 

Takes  when  the  sun  comes  nigh. 
And  keep  the  likeness  of  the  smile  their  grace 

Evoked  on  God's  own  face 
When,  seeing  this  work  of  his  most  heavenly  mood, 

He  saw  that  it  was  good  ? 
For  all  its  warm  sweet  body  seems  one  smile, 

And  mere  men's  love  too  vile 
To  meet  it,  or  with  eyes  that  worsliip  dims 

Read  o'er  the  little  limbs, 
Read  all  the  book  of  all  their  beauties  o'er, 

Rejoice,  revere,  adore, 
Bow  down  and  worship  each  delight  in  turn. 

Laugh,  wonder,  yield,  and  yearn. 
But  when  our  trembling  kisses  dare,  yet  dread. 

Even  to  draw  nigh  its  head, 
And  touch,  and  scarce  with   touch   or  breath  sur- 
prise 

Its  mild  miraculous  eyes 
Out  of  their  vicAvless  vision  —  0,  what  then, 

AVhat  may  be  said  of  men  ? 
What  speech  may  name  a  new-born   child  ?  what 
word 

Earth  ever  spake  or  heard  ? 
The  best  men's  tongue  that  ever  glory  knew 

Called  that  a  drop  of  dew 
Which  from  the  ])reathing  creature's  kindly  womb 

Came  forth  in  blameless  bloom. 
We  have  no  word,  as  had  those  men  most  high, 

To  call  a  baby  by. 
Rose,  ruby,  lily,  pearl  of  stormless  seas  — 

A  better  word  than  these. 


280  EIGHT  YEARS  OLD. 

A  better  sign  it  was  than  flower  or  gem 

That  love  revealed  to  them  : 
They  knew  that  whence  comes  light  or  quickening 
flame, 

Thence  only  this  thing  came. 
And  only  might  be  likened  of  our  love 

To  somewhat  born  above, 
Not  even  to  sweetest  things  dropped  else  on  earth, 

Only  to  dew's  own  birth. 
Nor  doubt  we  but  their  sense  was  heavenly  true, 

Babe,  when  we  gaze  on  you, 
A  dew-drop  out  of  heaven,  whose  colors  are 

More  bright  than  sun  or  star, 
As  now,  ere  watching  love  dare  fear  or  hope, 

Lips,  hands,  and  eyelids  ope, 
And  all  your  life  is  mixed  with  earthly  leaven. 

0  child,  what  news  from  heaven  ? 

EIGHT  YEARS  OLD. 


Sun,  when  the  faltering  snow-cloud  fears. 

Rise,  let  the  time  of  year  be  May, 
Speak  now  the  word  that  April  hears, 

Let  March  have  all  his  royal  way  ; 
Bid  all  spring  raise  in  winter's  ears 

All  tunes  her  childreii  hear  or  play, 
Because  the  crown  of  eight  glad  years 

On  one  bright  head  is  set  to-day. 

II. 

What  matters  cloud  or  sun  to-day 

To  him  who  wears  the  wreath  of  years 
So  many,  and  all  like  flowers  at  play 

With  wind  and  sunshine,  while  his  ears 
Hear  only  song  on  every  way  ? 

More  sweet  than  spring  triumphant  hears 
Ring  through  the  revel-rout  of  May 

Are  these,  the  notes  that  winter  fears. 

III. 

^trong-hearted  winter  knows  and  fears 


The  music  inftcl§  gi  loye  ^t  pla^, 


EIGHT  YEARS  OLD.  28l 

Or  haply  loves  the  tune  he  hears 

From  hearts  fulfilled  with  floweriug  May, 

Whose  molten  music  thaws  his  ears 
Late  frozen,  deaf  but  yesterday 

To  sounds  of  dying  and  dawning  years. 
Now  quickened  on  his  deathward  way. 

IV. 

For  deathward  now  lies  winter's  way 

Down  the  green  vestibule  of  years 
That  each  year  brightens  day  by  day 

With  flower  and  shower  till  hope  scarce  fears, 
And  fear  grows  wholly  hope  of  May. 

But  we — the  music  in  our  ears 
Made  of  love's  pulses  as  they  play. 

The  heart  alone  that  makes  it  hears. 


The  heart  it  is  that  plays  and  hears 

High  salutation  of  to-day. 
Tongue  falters,  hand  shrinks  back,  song  fears 

Its  own  unwortliiness  to  play 
Fit  music  for  those  eight  sweet  years. 

Or  sing  their  blithe  accomplished  way. 
No  song  quite  worth  a  young  child's  ears 

Broke  ever  even  from  birds  in  May. 

VI. 

There  beats  not  in  the  heart  of  May, 

When  summer  hopes  and  springtide  fears. 
There  falls  not  from  the  height  of  day, 

When  sunlight  speaks  and  silence  hears. 
So  sweet  a  psalm  as  children  play 

And  sing,  each  hour  of  all  their  years. 
Each  moment  of  their  lovely  way. 

And  know  not  how  it  thrills  our  ears. 

VII. 

Ah  !  child,  what  are  we,  that  our  ears 
Should  hear  you  singing  on  your  way, 

Should  have  this  happiness  ?     The  years 
Whose  hurrying  wings  about  us  play 


282  NON  DOLET. 

Are  not  like  yours,  whose  flower-time  fears 
Naught  worse  than  sunlit  showers  in  May, 

Being  sinless  as  the  spring,  that  hears 
Her  own  heart  praise  her  every  day. 

VIII, 

Yet  we,  too,  triumph  in  the  day 

That  bare,  to  entrance  our  eyes  and  ears. 
To  lighten  dayliglit,  and  to  play 

Such  notes  as  darkness  knows  and  fears, 
The  child  whose  face  illumes  our  way, 

Wliose  voice  lifts  up  the  heart  that  hears. 
Whose  hand  is  as  the  hand  of  May 

To  bring  us  flowers  from  eight  full  years. 
Feb.  4,  1882. 

"  NON  DOLET." 

It  does  not  hurt.     She  looked  along  the  knife 

Smiling,  and  watched  the  thick  drops  mix  and  run 
Down  the  sheer  blade  :  not  that  which  had  been  done 
Coukl  hurt  the  sweet  sense  of  the  Roman  wife, 
But  that  which  was  to  do  yet  ere  the  strife 
Could,  end  for  each  forever,  and  the  sun  : 
Nor  was  the  palm  yet  nor  was  peace  yet  won 
While  pain  had  power  upon  her  husband's  life. 

It  does  not  hurt,  Italia.     Thou  art  more 

Than  bride  to  bridegroom  :  how  shalt   thou  not 

take 
The  gift  love's  blood  has  reddened  for  thy  sake  ? 

Was  not  thy  life-blood  given  for  us  before  ? 
And  if  love's  heart-blood  can  avail  thy  need. 

And  thou  not  die,  how  should  it  hurt  indeed  ? 

LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  EDWAED  JOHN 
TRELAWNY. 

Last  high  star  of  the  years  whose  thunder 
Still  men's  listening  remembrance  hears. 
Last  light  left  of  our  fathers'  years. 
Watched  with  honor  and  hailed  with  wonder. 
Thee  too,  then,  have  the  yeai's  borne  under, 
Thou  too,  then,  hast  regained  thy  peers. 


EDWARD  JOHN  TRELAWNY  033 

Wiugs  that  warred  with  the  winds  of  morning. 
Storm-winds  rocking  the  red  great  dawn, 
Close  at  hist,  and  a  film  is  drawn 
Over  the  eyes  of  the  storm-bird,  scorning 
Now  no  longer  the  loud  wind's  warning, 
Waves  that  threaten  or  waves  that  fawn. 

Peers  were  none  of  thee  left  ns  living, 
Peers  of  theirs  we  shall  see  no  more. 
Eight  years  over  the  full  fourscore 
Knew  thee  :  now  shalt  thou  sleep,  forgiving 
All  griefs  past  of  the  wild  world's  giving, 
Moored  at  last  on  the  stormless  shore. 

World-wide  liberty's  lifelong  lover, 
Lover  no  less  of  the  strength  of  song. 
Sea-king,  swordsmaji,  hater  of  wrong, 

Over  thy  dust  that  the  dust  shall  cover 

Comes  my  song  as  a  bird  to  hover, 
Borne  of  its  will  as  of  wings  along. 

Cherished  of  thee  were  this  brief  song's  brothers 
Xow  that  follows  them,  cherishing  thee. 
Over  the  tides  and  the  tideless  sea. 

Soft  as  a  smile  of  the  earth  our  mother's. 

Flies  it  faster  than  all  those  otliers. 
First  of  the  troop  at  thy  tomb  to  be. 

Memories  of  Greece,  and  the  mountain's  hollow 
Guarded  alone  of  thy  loyal  sword. 
Hold  thy  name  for  our  hearts  in  ward  : 
Yet  more  fain  are  our  hearts  to  follow 
One  way  now  with  the  southward  swallow 
Back  to  the  grave  of  the  man  their  lord. 

Heart  of  hearts,  art  thou  moved  not,  hearing 
Surely,  if  hearts  of  the  dead  may  hear. 
Whose  true  heart  it  is  now  draws  near  ? 
Surely  the  sense  of  it  thrills  thee,  cheering 
Darkness  and  death  with  the  news  now  nearing, — 
Shelley,  Trelawny  rejoins  thee  here. 


284  OFF  SHORE. 


OFF  SHORE. 

When  the  might  of  the  summer 

Is  most  on  the  sea  ; 
AVhen  the  days  overcome  her 
With  joy  but  to  be, 
With  rapture  of  royal  enchautmeut,  and  sorcery  that 
sets  her  not  free, — 

But  for  hours  upon  hours 
As  a  thrall  she  remains 
Spell-bound  as  with  flowers, 
And  content  in  their  chains. 
And  her  loud  steeds  fret  not,  and  lift  not  a  lock  of 
their  deep  white  manes  ; 

Then  only,  far  under 

In  the  depths  of  her  hold, 
Some  gleam  of  its  wonder 
Man's  eye  may  behold. 
Its  wild  weed  forests  of  crimson  and  russet  and  olive 
and  gold. 

Still  deeper  and  dimmer 

And  goodlier  they  glow 
For  the  eyes  of  the  swimmer 
Who  scans  them  below 
As  he  crosses  the  zone  of  their  flowerage  that  knows 
not  of  sunshine  and  snow. 

Soft  blossoniless  frondage 
And  foliage  that  gleams 
As  to  prisoners  in  bondage 
The  light  of  their  dreams. 
The  desire  of  a  dawn  unbeholden,  with  hope  on  the 
wings  of  its  beams. 

Not  as  prisoners  entombed. 

Waxen  haggard  and  wizen. 
But  consoled  and  illumed 
In  the  de^iths  of  their  prison 
With  delight  of  the  light  everlasting,  and  vision  of 
dawn  on  them  risen. — 


OFF  SHORE.  285 

From  the  banks  and  the  beds 

Of  the  waters  divine, 
They  lift  up  their  heads, 

And  the  flowers  of  them  shine 
Through  the  splendor  of  darkness  that  clothes  them, 
of  water  that  glimmers  like  wine. 

Bright  bank  over  bank 

Making  glorious  the  gloom. 
Soft  rank  upon  rank, 

Strange  bloom  after  bloom, 
They  kindle  the  liquid  low  twilight,  the  dusk  of  the 
dim  sea's  womb. 

Through  the  subtile  and  tangible 

Gloom  without  form. 
Their  branches,  infrangible 
Even  of  storm. 
Spread  softer  their  sprays  than  the  shoots  of    the 
woodland  when  April  is  warm. 

As  the  flight  of  the  thunder,  full 

Charged  with  its  word. 
Dividing  the  wonderful 
Depths  like  a  bird, 
Speaks  wrath  and  delight  to  the  heart  of  the  night 
that  exults  to  have  heard, — 

So  swiftly,  though  soundless 

In  silence's  ear. 
Light,  winged  from  the  boundless 
Blue  depths  full  of  cheer. 
Speaks  joy  to  the  heart  of  the  waters  that  part  not 
before  him,  but  hear. 

Light  perfect  and  visible. 

Godhead  of  God, 
God  indivisible, 
Lifts  but  his  rod. 
And  the  shadows  are  scattered  in  sunder,  and  dark- 
ness is  liijht  at  his  nod. 


286  OFF  SHORE. 

At  the  touch  of  his  wand. 
At  the  nod  of  his  head 
Prom  the  spaces  beyond 

Where  the  dawn  hath  her  bed; 
Earth,  water,  and  air  are  transfigured,  and  rise  as 
one  risen  from  the  dead. 

He  puts  forth  his  hand, 

And  the  mountains  are  thrilled 
To  the  heart,  as  they  stand 
In  his  presence,  fulfilled 
With  his  glory  that  utters  his  grace  upon  earth,  and 
her  sorrows  are  stilled. 

The  moan  of  her  travail 

That  groans  for  the  light 
Till  dayspring  unravel 
The  weft  of  the  night. 
At  the  sound  of  the  strings  of  the  music  of  morning, 
falls  dumb  with  delight. 

He  gives  forth  his  word, 

And  the  word  that  he  saith. 
Ere  well  it  be  heard. 

Strikes  darkness  to  death  ; 
For  the  thought  of  his  heart  is  the  sunrise,  and  dawn 
as  the  sound  of  his  breath. 

And  the  strength  of  its  pulses. 

That  passion  makes  proud. 
Confounds  and  convulses 
The  depths  of  the  cloud 
Of  the  darkness  that  heaven  was  ingirt  with,  divided 
and  rent  as  a  shroud, — 

As  the  veil  of  the  shrine 
Of  the  temple  of  old, 
When  darkness  divine 
Over  noonday  was  rolled  ; 
So  the  heart  of  the  night  by  the  pulse  of  the  light  is 
convulsed  and  controlled. 

And  the  sea's  heart,  groaning 
For  glories  withdrawn, 


OFF  SHORE.  287 

And  the  waves'  mouths,  moaning 
All  night  for  the  dawn, 
Are  uplift  as  the  hearts  and  the  mouths  of  the  singers 
on  lea-side  and  lawn. 

And  the  sound  of  the  quiring 

Of  all  these  as  one, 
Desired  and  desiring 
Till  dawn's  will  be  done, 
Fills  full  with  delight  of  them  heaven  till  it  burns  as 
the  heart  of  the  sun  ; 

Till  the  waves,  too,  inherit, 

And  waters  take  part 
In  the  sense  of  the  spirit 
That  breathes  from  his  heart, 
And  are  kindled  with  music,  as  fire  when  the  lips  of 
the  morning  part, — 

With  music  unheard 

In  the  light  of  her  lips. 
In  the  life-giving  word 
Of  the  dewfall  that  drips 
On  the  grasses  of  earth,  and  the  wind  that  enkindles 
the  wings  of  the  sliips. 

White  glories  of  wings 
As  of  seafaring  birds. 
That  flock  from  the  springs 
Of  the  sunrise  in  herds, 
With  the  wind  for  a  herdsman,  and  hasten  or  halt  at 
the  change  of  his  words  ; 

As  the  watchwords  change,  ' 

When  the  wind's  note  shifts, 
And  tlie  skies  grow  strange, 
And  the  white  squall  drifts 
Up  sharp  from  the  sea-line,  vexing  the  sea  till  the 
low  cloud  lifts. 

At  the  cliarge  of  his  word 

Bidding  pause,  bidding  haste, 


288  OFF  SHORE. 

When  the  ranks  are  stirred 
And  the  lines  displaced, 
They  scatter  as  wild  swans,  parting  adrift  on  the  wan 
green  waste. 

At  the  hush  of  his  Avord, 

In  a  pause  of  his  breath 
When  the  waters  have  heard 
His  will  that  he  saith, 
They  stand  as  a  flock  penned  close  in  its  fold  for 
division  of  death. 

As  a  flock  by  division 

Of  death  to  1)e  thinned. 
As  the  shades  in  a  vision 
Of  spirits  that  sinned  ; 
So  glimmer  their   shrouds   and  their   sheetings  as 
clouds  on  the  stream  of  the  wind. 

But  the  sun  stands  fast. 

And  the  sea  burns  bright, 
And  the  flight  of  them  past 
Is  no  more  than  the  flight 
Of  the  snow-soft  swarm  of  serene  wings  poised  and 
afloat  ill  the  light. 

Like  flowers  upon  flowers. 

In  a  festival  way, 
When  hours  after  hours 
Shed  grace  on  the  day. 
White    blossom-like     butterflies    hover    and    gleam 
through  the  snows  of  the  spray. 

Like  snow-colored  petals 
Of  blossoms  that  flee 
From  storm  that  unsettles 
The  flowers  as  the  tree. 
They  flutter,  a  legion  of  floAvers  on  the  M'ing,  through 
the  field  of  tlie  sea. 

Through  the  furrowless  field 
AVhere  the  foam-blossoms  blow, 


OFF  SHORE.  289 

And  the  secrets  are  sealed 
Of  their  harvest  below, 
They  float  in  the  path  of  the  sunbeams,  as  flakes  or 
as  blossoms  of  snow. 

Till  the  sea's  ways  darken, 
And  the  god,  withdrawn. 
Give  ear  not,  or  hearken 
If  prayer  on  him  fawn. 
And  the  sun's  self  seem  but  a  shadow,  the  noon  as  a 
ghost  of  the  dawn. 

No  shadow,  but  rather, 

God,  father  of  song. 
Show  grace  to  me,  Father 
God,  loved  of  me  long. 
That  I  lose  not  the  light  of  thy  face,  that  my  trust 
in  thee  work  me  not  wrong, — 

While  yet  I  make  forward 
With  face  toward  thee, 
Not  turned  yet  in  shoreward, 
Be  thine  upon  me  ; 
Be  thy  light  on  my  forehead,  or  ever  I  turn  it  again 
from  the  sea. 

As  a  kiss  on  my  brow 

Be  the  light  of  thy  grace, 
Be  thy  glance  on  me  now 

From  the  pride  of  thy  place  : 
As  the  sign  of  a  sire  to  a  son,  be  the  light  on  my  face 
of  thy  face. 

Thou  wast  father  of  olden 

Times  hailed  and  adored. 
And  the  sense  of  thy  golden 
Great  harp's  monochord 
Was  the  joy  in  the  soul  of  the  singers  that  hailed  thee 
for  master  and  lord. 

Fair  father  of  all 

In  thy  ways  that  have  trod, 
That  have  risen  at  thy  call, 

»9 


290  EVENING  ON  THE  BROADS. 

That  have  thrilled  at  thy  nod, 
Arise,  shine,  lighten  upon  me,  0  sun  !  that  we  see  to 
be  God. 

As  my  soul  has  been  dutiful 

Only  to  thee, 
0  God  !  most  beautiful. 
Lighten  thou  me, 
As  I  swim  through  the  dim  long  rollers,  with  eyelids 
uplift  from  the  sea. 

Be  praised  and  adored  of  us. 

All  in  accord. 
Father  and  lord  of  us 
Always  adored. 
The  slayer,  and  the  stayer,  and  the  harper,  the  light 
of  us  all,  and  our  lord. 

At  the  sound  of  thy  lyre, 

At  the  touch  of  thy  rod, 
Air  quickens  to  fire 

By  the  foot  of  thee  trod, 
The  savior,  and  healer,  and  singer,  the  living  and 
visible  God. 

The  years  are  before  thee 

As  shadows  of  thee, 
As  men  that  adore  thee. 
As  cloudlets  that  flee  : 
But  thou  art  the  God,  and  thy  kingdom  is  heaven, 
and  thy  shrine  is  the  sea. 


EVENING  ON  THE  BROADS. 

Over  two  shadowless  waters,  adrift  as  a  pinnace  in 
peril. 
Hangs  as  in  heavy  suspense,  charged  with  irreso- 
lute light. 
Softly  the  soul  of  the  sunset  upholden  awhile  on  the 
sterile 
Waves  and  wastes  of  the  land,  half  repossessed  by 
the  niffht. 


EVENING  ON  THE  BROAIS  291 

Inland  glimmer  the  shallows  asleep,  and  afar  in  the 
breathless 
Twilight  :  yonder   the     depths   darken    afar   and 
asleep. 
Slowly  the    semblance  of  death  out  of   heaven  de- 
scends on  the  deathless 
Waters  :  hardly  the  light  lives  on  the  face  of  the 
deep, — 
Hardly,  but  here  for  a  while.     All  over  the  gray  soft 
shallow 
Hover  the  colors  and  clouds  of  the  twilight,  void 
of  a  star. 
As  a  bird  unfledged  is  the  broad-winged  night,  whose 
winglets  are  callow 
Yet,  but  soon  with  their  plumes  will  she  cover  her 
brood  from  afar, — 
Cover  the  brood  of  her  worlds  that  cumber  the  skies 
with  their  blossom, 
Thick  as  the  darkness  of  leaf-shadowed  spring  is 
encumbered  with  flowers. 
World  upon  Avorld  is  enwound  in  the  bountiful  girth 
of  her  bosom. 
Warm  and  lustrous  with  life  lovely  to  look  on  as  ours. 
Still  is  the  sunset  adrift  as  a  spirit  in  doubt  that  dis- 
sembles 
Still    with    itself,    being    sick    of    division,    and 
dimmed  by  dismay — 
Nay,  not  so  ;  but  with  love  and  delight  beyond  pas- 
sion it  trembles. 
Fearful  and  fain  of  the  night,  lovely  with  love  of 
the  day  : 
Fain  and  fearful  of  rest  that  is  like  unto  death,  and 
begotten 
Out  of  the  womb  of  the  tomb,  born  of  the  seed  of 
the  grave  : 
Lovely  with  shadows    of  loves    that    are  only  jiot 
wholly  forgotten. 
Only  not  wholly  suppressed  by  the  dark,  as  a  wreck 
by  the  wave. 
Still  there  linger  the  loves  of  the  morning  and  noon, 
in  a  vision 
Blindly  belield,  but  in  vain  ;  ghosts  that  are  tired, 
and  would  rest. 


292  EVENING  ON  THE  BROADS. 

But  tlie  glories  beloved  of  the  night  rise  all  too  dense 
for  division. 
Deep  in  the  depth  of  her  breast  sheltered  as  doves 
in  a  nest. 
Fainter  the  beams  of  the  loves  of  the  daylight  season 
enkindled 
Wane,  and  the  memories  of  hours  that  were  fair 
with  the  love  of  them  fade  ; 
Loftier,  aloft  of  the  lights  of  the  sunset  stricken  and 

dwindled, 
Gather  the  signs  of  the  love  at  the  heart  of  the  night 

new-made. 
New-made  night,  new-born  of  the  sunset,  immeasur- 
able, endless. 
Opens  the  secret  of  love  hid  from  of  old  in  her 
heart, — 
In  the  deep  sweet  heart  full-charged  with  faultless 
love  of  the  friendless 
Spirits  of  men  that  are  eased  when  the  wheels  of 
the  sun  depart. 
Still  is  the  sunset  afloat  as  a  ship  on  the   waters  up- 
hold en 
Full-sailed,    wide- winged,    poised    softly    forever 
a-sway — 
Nay,  not  so,  but  at  least  for  a  little,  a  while  at  the 
golden 
Limit  of  arching  air  fain  for  an  hour  to  delay. 
Here  on  the  bar  of  the  sand-bank,  steep  yet  aslope  to 
the  gleaming 
Waste  of  the  water  without,   waste  of  the  water 
within, 
Lights  overhead  and  lights  underneath  seen  doubt- 
fully dreaming 
Whether  the  day  be  done,  whether  the  night  may 
begin. 
Far  and  afar  and  farther  again,  they  falter  and  hover. 
Warm  on  the  water,  and  deep  in  the  sky,  and  pale 
on  the  cloud  : 
Colder  again,  and  slowly  remoter,  afraid  to  recover 
Breath,  yet  fain  to  revive,  as  it  seems,  from  the 
skirt  of  the  shroud. 
J'aintly  the  heart-beats  shorten  and  pause  of  the  light 
iu  the  westward 


EVENING  ON  THE  BROADS.  293 

Heaven^  as    eastward    quicken   the    j^aces   of   star 
upon  star 
Hurried  and  eager  of  life  as  a  child  that  strains  to 
the  breast-ward 
Eagerly,  yearning  forth  of  the  deejDs    where  the 
ways  of  them  are, 
Glad  of  the  glory  of  the  gift   of   their   life   and  the 

wealth  of  its  wonder. 
Fain  of  the  night,  and  the  sea,  and  the  sweet  wan 

face  of  the  earth. 
Over  them  air  grows  deeper,  intense  with  delight  in 
them  :  under 
Things  are  thrilled  in  their  sleej^,  as  with  sense  of 
a  sure  new  birth. 
But  here  by  the  sand-bank  watching,  with  eyes  on 
the  sea-line,  stranger 
Grows  to  me  also  the  weight  of  the  sea-ridge  gazed 
on  of  me, 
Heavily   heaped   up,    changefully    changeless,    void 
though  of  danger, 
Void  not  of  menace,  but  full  of  the  might  of  the 
dense  dull  sea. 
Like  as  the  wave  is  before  me,  behind  is  the  bank 
deep-drifted  ; 
Yellow  and  thick  as  the  bank  is  behind  me,  in 
front  is  the  wave. 
As  the  wall  of  a  prison  imprisoning  the  mere,  is  the 
girth  of  it  lifted  ; 
But  the  rampire  of  water  in  front  is  erect  as  the 
wall  of  a  grave. 
And  the  crests  of  it  crumble  and  topple  and  change, 
but  the  wall  is  not  broken  : 
Standing  still  dry-shod,  I  see  it  as  higher  than  my 
head, 
Moving  inland  alway  again,  reared  up  as  in  token 
Still  of  impending   wrath  still  in  the  foam  of  it 
shed. 
And  even  in  the  pauses  between  them,  dividing  the 
rollers  in  sunder. 
High  overhead   seems   ever  the  sea-line  fixed  as  a 
mark  ; 
And  the  shore  where  I  stand,  as  a  valley  beholden 
of  hills  whence  thunder 


294  EVENING  ON  THE  BROADS. 

Cloud  and  torrent  and  storm,  darkening  the  depths 
of  the  dark. 
Up  to  the  sea,  not  upon  it  or  over  it,  upward  from 
under 
Seems  he  to  gaze,  whose  eyes  yearn  after  it  here 
from  the  shore  ; 
A  wall  of  turbid  water,   a-sloj)e  to  the  wide  sky's 
wonder 
Of  color  and  cloud,  it  climbs,  or  spreads  as  a  slanted 
floor. 
And  the  large  lights  change  on  the  face  of  the  mere, 
like  things  that  were  living, 
Winged    and   wonderful,  beams  like  as  birds  are 
that  pass  and  are  free  ; 
But  the  light  is  dense  as  darkness,  a  gift  withheld 
in  the  giving. 
That  lies  as  dead  on  the  fierce  dull  face  of  the  land- 
ward sea. 
Stained  and  stifled  and  soiled,  made  earthlier  than 
earth  is  and  duller. 
Grimly  she  puts  back  light  as  rejected,  a  thing 
put  away  : 
No  transparent  rapture,  a  molten  music  of  color  ; 
No    translucent    love    taken    and    given    of   the 
day. 
Fettered  and  marred  and  begrimed,  is  the  light's  live 
self  on  her  falling, 
As  the  light  of  a  man's  life  lighted  the  fume  of  a 
dungeon  mars  : 
Only  she  knows  of  the  wind,  when  her  wrath  gives 
ear  to  him  calling  ; 
The  delight  of  the  light  she  knows  not,  nor  an- 
swers the  sun  or  the  stars. 
Love  she  hath  none  to  return  for  the  luminous  love 
of  their  giving  : 
None  to  reflect  from  the  bitter  and  shallow  response 
of  her  heart. 
Yearly  she  feeds  on  her  dead,  yet  herself  seems  dead 
and  not  living, 
Or  confused  as  a  soul  heavy-laden  with  trouble  that 
will  not  depart. 
In  the  sound  of  her  speech  to  the  darkness  the  moan 
of  her  evil  remorse  is, 


EVENING  ON  THE  BROADS.  295 

Haply,  for  strong  ships  gnawed  by  the  dog-toothed 
sea-bank's  fang, 
And  trampled  to  death  by  the  rage  of  the  feet  of  her 
foam-lipped  horses. 
Whose  manes  are  yellow  as  plague,  and  as  ensigns 
of  pestilence  hang. 
That  wave  in  the  foul  faint  air  of  the  breath  of  a 
death-stricken  city  ; 
So  menacing  heaves  she  the  manes  of  her  rollers 
knotted  with  sand, 
Discolored,  opaque,  suspended  in  sign  as  of  strength 
without  i^ity, 
That  shake  with  flameless  thunder  the  low  long 
length  of  the  strand. 
Here,  far  off  in  the  farther  extreme  of  the  shore  as 
it  lengthens 
Northward,  lonely  for  miles,  ere  ever  a  village  be- 
gin, 
On  the  lapsing  land  that  recedes  as  the  growth  of 
the  strong  sea  strengthens 
Shoreward,  thrusting  further  and  further  its  out- 
works in. 
Here  in  Shakespeare's  vision,  a  flower  of  her  kin  for- 
saken. 
Lay  in  her  golden  raimentaloneon  the  wild  wave's 
edge, 
Surely  by  no  shore  else,  but  here  on  the  bank  storm- 
shaken, 
Perdita,  bright  as  a  dewdrop  engilt  of  the  sun  on 
the  sedge. 
Here  on  a  shore  unbeheld  of  his  eyes,  in  a  dream,  he 
beheld  her 
Outcast,  fair  as  a  fairy,  the  child  of  a  far-off  king  ; 
And  over  the  babe-flower  gently  the  head  of  a  pas- 
toral elder 
Bowed,  compassionate,  hoar  as  the  hawthorn-blos- 
som in  spring. 
And  kind  as  harvest  in  autumn  :  a  shelter  of  shade 
on  the  lonely 
Shelterless  unknown  sliore,  scourged  of  implacable 
waves  : 
Here,  where  the  wind  walks  royal,  alone  iu  his  king- 
dom, and  only 


296  EVENING  ON  THE  BROADS. 

Sounds  to  the  sedges  a  wail  as  of  triumjili  that 
conquers  and  craves. 
All  these  waters  and  wastes  are  his  empire  of  old, 
and  awaken 
From   barren   and  stagnant  slumber  at  only   the 
sound  of  his  breath  : 
Yet  the  hunger  is  eased  not  that  aches  in  liis  heart, 
nor  the  goal  overtaken 
That  his  wide  wings  yearn  for,  and  labor  as  hearts 
that  yearn  after  death. 
All  the  solitude  sighs  and  expects  with  a  blind  ex- 
pectation 
Somewhat  unknown  of  its  own  sad  heart,  grown 
heart-sick  of  strife  : 
Till  sometime  its  wild  heart  tnaddens,  and  moans, 
and  the  vast  ululation 
Takes  wing  with  the  clouds   on  the  waters,  and 
wails  to  be  quit  of  its  life. 
For  the  spirit  and  soul  of  the  waste  is  the  wind,  and 
his  wings  with  their  waving 
Darken  and  lighten  the  darkness  and  liglit  of  it 
thickened  or  thinned, 
But  the   heart  that  impels  them   is  even   as  a  con- 
queror's insatiable  craving 
That  victory  can  fill  not,  as  power  cannot  satiate 
the  want  of  tlie  wind. 
All  these  moorlands  and  marshes  are  full  of  his  might, 
and  oppose  not 
Aught  of  defence  nor  of  barrier,  of  forest  or  pre- 
cipice piled  ; 
But  the  will  of   the  wind  works  ever  as  his  that  de- 
sires what  he  knows  not. 
And    the    wail  of   his    want   unfulfilled  is  as  one 
making  moan  for  her  child. 
And  the  cry  of  his  triumpli  is  even  as  the  crying  of 
hunger  that  maddens 
The  heart  of  a  strong  man,  aching  in  vain  as  the 
wind's  heart  aches  ; 
And  the  sadness  itself  of  the  land  for  its  infinite 
solitude  saddens 
More  for  the  sound  than  the  silence  athir.st  for  the 
sound  that  slakes, 


THE  EMPEROR'S  PROGRESS.       097 

And  the  sunset  at  last,  and  the   twilight  are  dead  ; 
and  the  darkness  is  breathless 
With  fear  of  the  wind's   breath  rising  that  seems 
and  seems  not  to  sleep  ; 
But  a  sense  of  the  sound  of  it  alway,  a  spirit  unsleep- 
ing and  deathless, 
Ghost  or  god.  evermore  moves  on  the  face  of  the 
deep. 


THE  EMPEROR'S  PROGRESS. 

A   STUDY    IJ^   THREE   STAGES. 

(On  the  Busts  of  Nero  in  the  Uffizj.) 

Child  of  brighter  than  the  morning's  birth, 
And  lovelier  than  all  smiles  that  may  be  smiled 
Save  only  of  little  children  undefiled, 
Sweet,  perfect,  witless  of  their  own  dear  worth, 
Live  rose  of  love,  mute  melody  of  mirth, 
Glad  as  a  bird  is  when  the  woods  are  mild, 
Adorable  as  is  nothing  save  a  child, 
Hails  with  wide  eyes  and  lips  his  life  on  earth. 
His  lovely  life  with  all  its  heaven  to  be. 

And  whoso  reads  the  name  inscribed,  or  hears, 
Feels  his  own  heart  a  frozen  well  of  tears. 
Child,  for  deep  dread  and  fearful  pity  of  thee 
Whom  God  would  not  let  rather  die  than  see 
The  incumbent  horror  of  impending  years. 

II. 

Man,  that  wast  godlike  being  a  child,  and  now. 
No  less  than  kinglike,  art  no  more  in  sooth 
For  all  thy  grace  and  lordliness  of  youth. 
The  crown  that  bids  men's  branded  foreheads  bow. 
Much  more  has  branded  and  bowed  down  thy  brow. 
And  gnawn  upon  it  as  with  fire  or  tooth 
Of  steel  or  snake  so  sorely,  that  tlie  truth 
Seems  here  to  bear  false  witness.     Is  it  thou, 
Child  ?  and  is  all  tlie  summer  of  all  thy  spring 
This  ?  are  the  smiles  that  drew  men's  kisses  down 
All  faded  and  transfigured  to  the  frown 


298  SIX  YEARR  OLD. 

Tliat  grievea  tliy  face  ?  Art  thou  this  weary  thing  ? 

Then  is  no  shivc's  load  heavier  than  a  crown, 
And  such  a  thrall  no  bondman  as  a  king. 

III. 

Misery  beyond  all  men's  most  miserable, 

Absolute,  whole,  defiant  of  defence. 

Inevitable,  inexplacable,  intense. 
More  vast  than  heaven  is  high,  more  deep  than  hell. 
Past  cure  or  charm  of  solace  or  of  spell. 

Possesses  and  pervades  the  spirit  and  sense 

Whereto  the  expanse  of  the  earth  pays   tribute ; 
whence 
Breeds  evil  only,  and  broods  on  fumes  that  swell 
Eank  from  the  blood  of  brother  and  mother  and  wife. 

"  Misery  of  miseries,  all  is  misery,"  saith 
The  heavy  fair-faced  hateful  head,  at  strife 

With  its  own  lusts  that  burn  with  feverous  breath. 
Lips  which  the  loathsome  bitterness  of  life 

Leaves  fearful  of  the  bitterness  of  death. 


SIX  YEAES  OLD. 
To  H.  W.  M. 

Between"  the  springs  of  six  and  seven. 

Two  fresh  years'  fountains,  clear 
Of  all  but  golden  sand  for  leaven. 

Child,  midway  passing  here. 
As  earth  for  love's  sake  dares  bless  heaven, 

So  dare  I  bless  you,  dear. 

Between  two  bright  well-heads,  that  brighten 

With  every  breath  that  blows 
Too  loud  to  lull,  too  low  to  frighten. 

But  fain  to  rock,  the  rose. 
Your  feet  stand  fast,  your  lit  smiles  lighten. 

That  might  rear  flowers  from  snows. 

You  came  when  winds  unleashed  were  snarling 
Behind  the  frost-bound  hours. 


A  PARTING  SONG.  299 

A  snow-bird  sturdier  than  the  starling, 

A  storm-bird  fledged  for  showers, 
That  spring  miglit  smile  to  find  you,  darling. 

First-born  of  all  the  flowers. 

Could  love  make  worthy  things  of  worthless. 

My  song  were  worth  an  ear  : 
Its  note  should  make  the  days  most  mirthless 

The  merriest  of  the  year, 
And  wake  to  birth  all  buds  yet  birthless. 

To  keep  your  birthday,  dear. 

But  where  your  birthday  brightens  heaven 

No  need  has  earth,  God  knows, 
Of  light  or  warmth  to  melt  or  leaven 

The  frost  or  fog  that  glows 
With  sevenfold  heavenly  lights  of  seven 

Sweet  springs  that  cleave  the  snows. 

Could  love  make  worthy  music  of  yon. 

And  match  my  Master's  powers. 
Had  even  my  love  less  heart  to  love  yon, 

A  better  song  were  ours  ; 
\yith  all  the  rhymes  like  stars  above  you, 

And  all  the  words  like  flowers. 

Sept.  30,  1880. 


A  PARTING  SONG. 

(To  a  friend  leaving  England  for  a  year's  residenee 
in  Australia.) 

These  winds  and  suns  of  spring. 

That  warm  with  breath  and  wing 
The  trembling  sleep  of  earth,  till  half  awake 
She  laughs  and  blushes  ere  her  slumber  break. 

For  all  good  gifts  they  bring 

Require  one  better  thing. 
For  ail  the  loans  of  joy  they  lend  us,  borrow 
One  sharper  dole  of  sorrow. 
To  sunder  soon  by  half  a  world  of  sea 
Her  son  from  England,  and  my  friend  from  me. 


300  A  PARTING  SONG. 

Nor  hope  nor  love  nor  fear 

May  s})eed  or  stay  one  year, 
Nor  song  nor  prayer  may  bid,  as  mine  would  fain. 
The  seasons  perish  and  be  born  again. 

Restoring  all  we  lend. 

Reluctant,  of  a  friend, — 
The  voice,  the  hand,  the  presence,  and  the  sight. 
That  lend  their  life  and  light 

To  present  gladness  and  heart-strengthening  cheer. 
Now  lent  again  for  one  reluctant  year. 

So  much  we  lend  indeed. 

Perforce,  by  force  of  need, 
So  much  we  nnist  ;  even  these  things  and  no  more, 
The  far  sea  sundering  and  the  sundered  shore 

A  world  apart  from  ours. 

So  much  the  imperious  hours  ; 
Exact,  and  spare  not  ;  but  no  more  than  these 
All  earth  and  all  her  seas 

From  thought  and  faith  of  trust  and  truth  can  bor- 
row, 
Not  memory  from  desire,  nor  hope  from  sorrow. 

Through  bright  and  dark  and  bright 

Returns  of  day  and  niglit 
I  bid  the  swift  year  speed,  and  change  and  give 
His  breath  of  life  to  make  the  next  year  live 

With  sunnier  suns  for  us, 

A  life  more  prosperous. 
And  laugh  with  flowers  more  fragrant,  that  shall  see 
A  merrier  March  for  me, 
A  rosier-girdled  race  of  night  with  day, 
A  goodlier  April,  and  a  tenderer  May. 

For  him  the  inverted  year 

Shall  mark  our  seasons  here 
With  alien  alternation,  and  revive 
This  withered  winter,  slaying  the  spring  alive 

With  darts  more  sharply  drawn 

As  nearer  draws  the  dawn, 
In  heaven  transfigured  over  earth  transformed, 
And  with  our  winters  warmed 


A  PARTING  SONG.  gOl 

And  wasted  with  our  summers,  till  the  beams 
Eise  on  his  face  that  rose  on  Dante's  dreams. 

Till  fourfold  morning  rise 

Of  star-shine  on  his  eyes, 
Dawn  of  the  spheres  that  brand  steep  heaven  across 
At  height  of  night  with  semblance  of  a  cross 

Whose  grace  and  ghostly  glory 

Poured  heaven  on  purgatory. 
Seeing  with  their  flamelets  risen  all  heaven  grow 

glad 
For  love  thereof  it  had 
And  lovely  joy  of  loving  ;  so  may  these 
Make  bright  with  welcome  now  their  southern  seas. 

0  happy  stars,  whose  mirth 

The  saddest  soul  on  earth 
That  ever  soared  and  sang,  found  strong  to  bless. 
Lightening  his  life's  harsh  load  of  heaviness 

With  comfort  sown  like  seed 

In  dreams  though  not  in  deed, 
On  sprinkled  wastes  of  darkling  thought  divine  ! 
Let  all  your  lights  now  shine 
With  all  as  glorious  gladness  on  his  eyes. 
For  whom  indeed,  and  not  in  dream,  they  rise. 

As  those  great  twins  of  air 

Hailed  once  with  old-world  prayer 
Of  all  folk  alway  faring  forth  by  sea, 
So  now  may  these  for  grace  and  guidance  be. 

To  guard  his  sail,  and  bring 

Again  to  brighten  spring 
The  face  we  look  for,  and  the  hand  we  lack 
Still,  till  they  light  him  back. 
As  welcome  as  to  first  discovering  eyes 
Their  light  rose  ever,  soon  on  his  to  rise. 

As  parting  now  he  goes 

From  snow-time  back  to  snows. 

So  back  to  spring  from  summer  may  next  year 

Restore  him,  and  our  hearts  receive  him  here, — 

The  best  good  gift  that  spring 

Had  ever  grace  to  bring 


302  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

At  fortune's  luippiest  liour  of  star-blest  birth, 
Back  to  love's  honie-briglit  earth, 
To  eyes  with  eyes  that  commune,  liand  with  hand. 
And  the  old  warm  bosom  of  all  our  mother-laud. 

Earth  and  sea-wind  and  sea 

And  stars  and  sunlight  be 
Alike  all  prosperous  for  him,  and  all  hours 
Have  all  one  heart,  and  all  that  heart  as  ours. 

All  things  as  good  as  strange. 

Crown  all  the  seasons'  change 
With  changing  flower  and  compensating  fruit 
From  one  year's  ripening  root  ; 
Till  next  year  bring  us,  roused  at  spring's  recall, 
A  heartier  flower  and  goodlier  fruit  than  all. 

March  26, 1880. 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 
I. 


A  LAND  that  is  lonelier  than  ruin  ; 

A  sea  that  is  stranger  than  death  ; 
Far  fields  that  a  rose  never  blew  in, 
Wan  waste  where  the  Avinds  lack  breath  ; 
Waste  endless  and  boundless,  and  flowerless 

But  of  marsh-blossoms  fruitless  as  free  ; 
Where  earth  lies  exhausted,  as  powerless 

To  strive  with  the  sea. 


Far  flickers  the  flight  of  the  swallows. 

Far  flutters  the  weft  of  the  grass 
Spun  dense  over  desolate  hollows. 

More  pale  than  the  clouds  as  they  pass  ; 
Thick  woven  as  the  web  of  a  witch  is 

Round  the  heart  of  a  thrall  that  hath  sinned, 
Whose  youth  and  the  wrecks  of  its  riches 

Are  waifs  on  the  wind. 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  303 

3. 

The  pastures  are  herdless  and  sheepless, 

Xo  pasture  or  shelter  for  herds  : 
The  wind  is  relentless  and  sleepless, 

And  restless  and  songless  the  birds  ; 
Tlieir  cries  from  afar  fall  breathless. 

Their  wings  are  as  lightnings  that  flee  ; 
For  the  land  has  two  lords  that  are  deathless, — 

Death's  self,  and  the  sea. 

4. 

These  twain,  as  a  king  with  his  fellow. 

Hold  converse  of  desolate  speech  ; 
And  her  waters  are  haggard  and  yellow 

And  crass  with  the  scurf  of  the  beacli  ; 
And  his  garments  are  gray  as  the  hoary 

Wan  sky  where  the  day  lies  dim  ; 
And  his  power  is  to  her,  and  Ms  glory. 
As  hers  unto  him. 

5. 

In  the  pride  of  his  power  she  rejoices, 
In  her  glory  he  glows  and  is  glad  : 
In  her  darkness  the  sound  of  his  voice  is. 
With  his  breath  she  dilates,  and  is  mad  : 

**If  thou  slay  me,  0  death,  and  outlive  me. 
Yet  thy  love  hath  fulfilled  me  of  thee." 

"  Shall  I  give  thee  not  back  if  thou  give  me, 
0  sister,  0  sea  ?  " 


And  year  upon  year  dawns  living. 
And  age  upon  age  drops  dead  : 

And  his  hand  is  not  weary  of  giving. 
And  the  thirst  of  her  heart  is  not  fed  : 

And  the  hunger  that  moans  in  her  passion. 

And  the  rage  in  her  hunger  that  roars, 

As  a  wolf's  that  the  winter  lav  la'='h  on. 
Still  calls  and  implores. 

7. 
Her  walls  have  no  granite  for  giw 
No  fortalice  fronting  her  stands  : 


304  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

But  reefs  the  bloodguiltiest  of  murder 
Are  less  than  the  banks  of  her  sands  : 

These  number  their  slain  by  the  thousand  ; 
For  the  ship  hath  no  surety  to  be. 

When  the  bank  is  abreast  of  her  bows,  and 
Aflush  with  the  sea. 


No  surety  to  stand,  and  no  shelter 

To  dawn  out  of  darkness  but  one. 
Out  of  waters  that  hurtle  and  welter, 

No  succor  to  dawn  with  the  sun 
But  a  rest  from  the  wind  as  it  passes. 

Where,  hardly  redeemed  from  the  waves. 
Lie  thick  as  the  blades  of  the  grasses 

The  dead  in  their  graves. 

9. 

A  multitude  noteless  of  numbers. 

As  wild  weeds  cast  on  an  heap. 
And  sounder  than  sleep  are  their  slumbers. 

And  softer  than  song  is  their  sleep  ; 
And  sweeter  than  all  things,  and  stranger 

The  sense,  if  perchance  it  may  be, 
That  the  wind  is  divested  of  danger, 

And  scatheless  the  sea  ; 

10. 

That  the  roar  of  the  banks  they  breasted 

Is  hurtless  as  bellowing  of  herds, 
And  the  strength  of  his  wings  that  invested 

The  wind,  as  the  strength  of  a  bird's  : 
As  the  sea-mew's  might  or  the  swallow's 

That  cry  to  him  back  if  he  cries. 
As  over  the  graves  and  their  hollows 

Days  darken  and  rise. 


II. 

As  the  souls  of  the  dead  men  disburdened 
And  clean  of  the  sins  that  they  sinned, 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  306 

With  a  lovelier  than  man's  life  guerdoned. 

And  delight  as  a  waves  in  the  wind, 
And  delight  as  the  wind's  in  the  billow. 

Birds  pass,  and  deride  with  their  glee 
The  flesh  that  has  dust  for  its  pillows 

As  wrecks  have  the  sea. 


12. 

When  the  ways  of  the  sun  wax  dimmer, 

Wings  flash  through  the  dusk  like  beams ; 
As  the  clouds  in  the  lit  sky  glimmer. 

The  bird  in  the  graveyard  gleams  ; 
As  the  cloud  at  its  wing's  edge  whitens 

When  the  clarions  of  sunrise  are  heard. 
The  graves  that  the  bird's  note  brightens 

Grow  bright  for  the  bird. 

13. 

As  the  waves  of  the  numberless  waters 

That  the  wind  cannot  number  who  guides. 
Are  the  sons  of  the  shore  and  the  daughters 

Here  lulled  by  the  chime  of  the  tides ; 
And  here  in  the  press  of  them  standing 

We  know  not  if  these  or  if  we 
Live  truliest, — or  anchored  to  landing. 

Or  drifted  to  sea. 


14. 

In  the  valley  he  named  of   decision. 

No  denser  were  multitudes  met 
When  the  soul  of  the  seer  in  her  vision 

Saw  nations  for  doom  of  them  set ; 
Saw  darkness  in  dawn,  aiul  the  splendor 

Of  judgment,  the  sword  and  the  rod  : 
But  the  (loom  here  of  death  is  more  tender, 

And  gentler  tlie  god. 

15. 

And  gentler  the  wind  from  the  dreary 
Sea-banks  by  the  wfives  oyerlapiicd, 
?9 


306  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

Being  weary,  speaks  peace  to  the  weary. 

From  slopes  that  the  tide-stream  hath  sapped  ; 

And  sweeter  than  all  that  we  call  so 
The  seal  of  their  slumher  shall  be 

Till  the  graves  that  embosom  them  also 
Be  sapped  of  the  sea. 


II. 

1. 

For  the  heart  of  the  waters  is  cruel, 
And  the  kisses  are  dire  of  their  lips, 

And  their  waves  are  as  fire  is  to  fuel 
To  the  strength  of  the  seafaring  ships, 

Though  the  sea's  eye  gleam  as  a  jewel 
To  the  sun's  eye  back  as  he  dips. 


Though  the  sun's  eye  flash  to  the  sea's 
Live  light  of  delight  and  of  laughter. 

And  her  \vjs  breathe  back  to  the  breeze 
The  kiss  that  the  wind's  lips  waft  her 

From  the  sun  that  subsides,  and  sees 
No  gleam  of  the  storm's  dawn  after. 

3. 

And  the  Avastes  of  the  wild  sea-marches 

Where  the  borderers  are  matched  in  their  might- 
Bleak  fens  that  the  sun's  Aveight  parches, 

Dense  waves  that  reject  his  light — 

Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 

Of  changeless  morning  and  night. 


The  waves  are  as  ranks  enrolled 
Too  close  for  the  storm  to  sever  : 

The  fens  lie  naked  and  cold. 

But  their  heart  fails  utterly  never  : 

The  lists  are  set  from  of  old, 
And  the  warfare  endureth  forever. 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  307 

III. 
1, 

Miles  and  miles  and  miles  of  desolation  ! 

Leagues  on  leagues  on  leagues  without  a  change  ! 
Sign  or  token  of  some  eldest  nation 

Here  would  make  the  strange  land  not  so  strange. 
Time-forgotten,  yea  since  time's  creation, 

Seem  these  borders  where  the  seabirds  range. 

2. 

Slowly,  gladly,  full  of  peace  an     wonder 
Grows  his  heart  who  jonrneys  here  alone  . 

Earth  and  all  its  thoughts  of  earth   sink  under 
Deep  as  deep  in  water  sinks  a  stone  ; 

Hardly  knows  it  if  the  rollers  thunder, 
Hardly  whence  the  lonely  wind  is  blown. 


Tall  the  plumage  of  the  rnsh-flower  tosses  ; 

Sharp  and  soft  in  many  a  curve  and  line, 
Gleam  and  glow  the  sea-colored  marsh-mosses, 

Salt  and  splendid  from  the  circling  brine  ; 
Streak  on  streak  of  glimmering  sea-shine  crosses 

All  the  laud  sea-saturate  as  with  wine. 


Far,  and  far  between,  in  divers  orders. 

Clear  gray  steeples  cleave  the  low  gray  sky  ; 

Fast  and  firm  as  time-unshaken  warders, 

Hearts  made  sure  by  faith,  by  hope  made  high. 

These  alone  in  all  the  wild  sea-borders 
Fear  no  blast  of  days  and  nights  that  die. 

5. 

All  the  land  is  like  as  one  man's  face  is, 

Pale  and  troubled  still  with  change  of  cares. 

Doubt  and  death  pervade  her  clouded  spaces  ; 
Strength  and  length  of  life  and  peace  are  theirs,- 

Theirs  alone  amid  these  weary  places. 

Seeing  not  how  the  wild  world  frets  and  fares. 


308  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

6. 

Firm  and  fast  where  all  is  cloud  that  changes, 

Cloud-clogged  sunlight,  cloud  hy  sunlight  thinned, 

Stern  and  sweet,  above  the  sand-hill  ranges. 

Watch  the  towers  and  tombs  of  men  that  sinned 

Once,  now  calm  as  earth,  whose  only  change  is 
Wind,  and  light,  and  wind,  and  cloud,  and  wind. 


Out  and  in  and  out  the  sharp  straits  wander. 
In  and  out  and  in  the  wild  way  strives, 

Starred   and    paved    and    lined    with    flowers    that 
squander 
Gold  as  golden  as  the  gold  of  hives. 

Salt  and  moist  and  multiform  ;  but  yonder, 
See,  Avhat  sign  of  life  or  death  survives  ? 

8. 

Seen  then  only  when  the  songs  of  olden 

Harps  were  young,  whose  echoes  yet  endure, 

Hymned  of  Homer  when  his  years  were  golden, 
Known  of  only  when  the  world  was  pure. 

Here  is  Hades,  manifest,  beholden, 
Surely,  surely  here,  if  aught  be  sure  ! 


Where  the  border-line  was  crossed,  that,  sundering 
Death  from  life,  keeps  weariness  from  rest, 

None  can  tell,  who  fares  here  forward  wondering  ; 
None  may  doubt  but  here  might  end  his  quest. 

Here  life's  lightning  joys  and  woes  once  thunder- 

Sea-like  round  him  cease  like  storm  suppressed. 

10. 

Here  the  wise  wave-Avandering  steadfast-hearted 
Guest  of  many  a  lord,  of  many  a  land, 

Saw  the  shape  or  shade  of  years  departed. 
Saw  the  semblance  risen  and  hard  at  hand, 

Saw  the  mother  long  from  love's  reach  parted, 
Anticleia,  like  a  statue  stand, 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  309 

II. 

Statue  ?  nay,  nor  tissued  image  woven 
Fair  on  hangings  in  his  father's  hall  ; 

Nay,  too  fast  lier  faitli  of  heart  was  proven, 
Far  too  firm  her  loveliest  love  of  jill  ; 

Love  wherethrough  the  loving  heart  was  cloven, 
Love  that  hears  not  when  the  loud  Fates  call. 

12. 

Love  that  lives  and  stands  up  re-created 

Then  when  life  has  ebbed  and  anguish  fled  ; 

Love  more  strong  than  death  or  all  things  fated. 
Child's  and  mother's,  lit  by  love  and  led  ; 

Love  that  found  what  life  so  long  awaited 
Here,  when  life  came  down  among  the  dead. 

13. 

Here,  where  never  came  alive  another. 
Came  her  son  across  the  sundering  tide 

Crossed  before  by  many  a  warrior  brother 
Once  that  warred  on  Ilion  at  his  side  ; 

Here  spread  forth  vain  hands  to  clasp  the  mother 
Dead,  that  sorrowing  for  his  love's  sake  died. 

14. 

Parted,  though  by  narrowest  of  divisions. 
Clasp  he  might  not,  only  might  implore. 

Sundered  yet  by  bitterest  of  derisions, 

Son,  and  mother  from  the  son  she  bore — 

Here  ?     But  all  dispeopled  here  of  visions 
Lies,  forlorn  of  shadows  even,  the  shore. 


15. 

A.11  too  sweet  such  men's  Hellenic  speech  is. 
All  too  fain  they  lived  of  light  to  see. 

Once  to  see  the  darkness  of  these  beaches. 
Once  to  sing  this  Hades  found  of  me, 

Ghostless,  all  its  gulfs  and  creeks  and  reaches, 
Sky,  and  shore,  and  cloud,  and  waste,  and  sea. 


310  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

IV. 

1. 

Bnt  aloft  and  afront  of  me  faring 
Far  forward  as  folk   in  a  dream 

That  strive,  between  doubting  and  daring, 
Eight  on  till  the  goal  for  them  gleam, 

Full  forth  till  their  goal  on  them  lighten, 
The  harbor  where  fain  they  would  be, 

What  headlands  there  darken  and  brighten 
What  change  in  the  sea  ? 


What  houses  and  woodlands  that  nestle 

Safe  inland  to  lee  of  the  hill 
As  it  slopes  from  the  headlands  that  wrestle 

And  succumb  to  the  strong  sea's  will  ? 
Truce  is  not,  nor  respite,  nor  pity  ; 

For  the  battle  is  waged  not  of  hands, 
AVhere  over  the  grave  of  a  city 
The  ghost  of  it  stands. 

3. 

Where  the  wings  of  the  sea-wind  slacken, 
Green  lawns  to  the  landward  thrive, 

Fields  brighten  and  pine-woods  blacken. 
And  the  heat  in  their  heart  is  alive  ; 

They  blossom  and  warble  and  murmur. 
For  the  sense  of  their  spirit  is  free  : 

But  harder  to  shoreward  and  firmer 
The  grasp  of  the  sea. 


Like  ashes  the  low  cliffs  crumble, 
The  banks  drop  down  into  dust. 

The  heights  of  the  hills  are  made  humble. 
As  a  reed's  is  the  strength  of  their  trust  ; 

As  a  city's  that  armies  environ, 

The  strength  of  their  stay  is  of  sand  : 

But  the  gras'p  of  the  sea  is  as  iron, 
Laid  hard  on  the  laud. 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  311 

5. 

A  land  that  is  thirstier  than  ruin  ; 

A  sea  that  is  hungrier  than  death  ; 
Heaped  hills  that  a  tree  never  grew  in  ; 

Wide  sands  where  the  wave  draws  breath  ; 
All  solace  is  here  for  the  spirit 

That  ever  forever  may  be 
For  the  soul  of  thy  son  to  inherit. 
My  mother,  my  sea. 

6. 

0  delight  of  the  headlands  and  beaches  ! 

0  desire  of  the  wind  on  the  wold. 
More  glad  than  a  man's  when  it  reaches 

That  end  which  it  sought  from  of  old, 
And  the  palm  of  possession  is  dreary 

To  the  sense  that  in  search  of  it  sinned  ; 
But  nor  satisfied  ever  nor  weary 
Is  ever  the  wind. 


The  delight  that  he  takes  but  in  living 
Is  more  than  of  all  things  that  live  ; 

For  the  world  that  has  all  things  for  giving 
Has  nothing  so  goodly  to  give  : 

But  more  than  delight  his  desire  is, 

For  the  goal  where  his  pinions  would  be 

Is  immortal  as  air  or  as  fire  is. 
Immense  as  the  sea. 


Though  hence  come  the  moan  that  he  borrows 
From  darkness  and  depths  of  the  night, 

Though  hence  be  the  spring  of  his  sorrows, 
Hence  too  is  the  joy  of  his  might, — 

The  delight  that  his  doom  is  forever 
To  seek,  and  desire,  and  rejoice. 

And  the  sense  that  eternity  never 
Shall  silence  his  voice  ; 


312  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

9. 

That  satiety  never  may  stifle. 

Nor  weariness  ever  estrange. 
Nor  time  be  so  strong  as  to  rifle, 

Nor  change  be  so  great  as  to  change 
His  gift  that  renews  in  the  giving, 

The  joy  that  exalts  him  to  be 
Alone  of  all  elements  living 

The  lord  of  the  sea. 


10. 

What  is  fire,  that  its  flame  shonld  consume  her  ? 

More  fierce  than  all  fires  are  her  waves. 
What  is  earth,  that  its  gulfs  should  entomb  her  ? 

More  deep  are  her  own  than  their  graves. 
Life  shrinks  from  his  pinions  that  cover 

The  darkness  by  thunders  bedinned  ; 
But  she  knows  him,  her  lord  and  her  lover, 

The  godhead  of  wind. 

11. 

For  a  season  his  wings  are  about  her, 

His  breath  on  her  lips  for  a  space  ; 
Such  rapture  he  wins  not  without  her 

In  the  Avidth  of  his  world-wide  race. 
Though  the  forests  bow  down,  and  the  mountains 

Wax  dark,  and  the  tribes  of  them  flee, 
His  delight  is  more  deep  in  the  fountains 

And  springs  of  the  sea. 

12. 

There  are  those  too  of  mortals  that  love  him. 

There  are  souls  that  desire  and  require. 
Be  the  glories  of  midnight  above  him, 

Or  beneath  him  the  daysprings  of  fire  ; 
And  their  hearts  are  as  harps  that  approve  him 

And  praise  him  as  chords  of  a  lyre 
That  were  fain  with  their  music  to  move  him 

To  meet  their  desire. 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  313 


13. 


To  descend  through  the  darkness  to  grace  them. 

Till  darkness  were  lovelier  than  light : 
To  encompass  and  grasp  and  embrace  them. 

Till  their  weakness  were  one  with  his  might ; 
With  the  strength  of  his  wings  to  caress  them. 

With  the  blast  of  his  breath  to  set  free  ; 
With  the  mouths  of  his  thunders  to  bless  them 

For  sons  of  the  sea. 


14. 

For  these  have  the  toil  and  the  guerdon 

That  the  wind  has  eternally  :  these 
Have  part  in  the  boon  and  the  burden 

Of  the  sleepless,  unsatisfied  breeze, 
That  finds  not,  but  seeking  rejoices 

That  possession  can  work  him  no  wrong  ; 
And  the  voice  at  the  heart  of  their  voice  is 

The  sense  of  his  song. 

15. 

For  the  wind's  is  their  doom  and  their  blessing ; 

To  desire,  and  have  always  above 
A  possession  beyond  their  possessing, 

A  love  beyond  reach  of  their  love. 
Green  earth  has  her  sons  and  her  daughters, 

And  these  have  their  guerdons  ;  but  we 
Are  the  wind's,  and  the  sun's,  and  the  water's. 
Elect  of  the  sea. 


V. 


For  the  sea  too  seeks  and  rejoices, 

Gains  and  loses  and  gains. 
And  the  joy  of  her  heart's  own  choice  is 

As  ours,  and  as  ours  are  her  pains  : 
As  the  thoughts  of  our  hearts  are  her  voices. 

And  as  hers  is  the  pulse  of  our  veins. 


314  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

2. 

Her  fields  that  know  not  of  dearth, 
Nor  lie  for  their  fruit's  sake  fallow, 

Laugh  large  in  the  depths  of  their  mirth ; 
But  inshore  here  in  the  shallow. 

Embroiled  with  encumbrance  of  earth, 
Tlieir  skirts  are  turbid  and  yellow. 

3. 

The  grime  of  her  greed  is  upon  her, 
The  sign  of  her  deed  is  her  soil  ; 

As  the  earth's  is  her  own  dishonor, 

And  corruption  the  crown  of  her  toil  : 

She  hath  spoiled  and  devoured,  and  her  honor 
Is  this,  to  be  shamed  by  her  sj)oil. 


But  afar  where  pollution  is  none. 
Nor  ensign  of  strife  nor  endeavor. 

Where  her  heart  and  the  sun's  are  one, 
And  the  soil  of  her  sin  comes  never. 

She  is  pure  as  the  wind  and  the  sun, 
And  her  sweetness  endureth  forever. 

VI. 

1. 

Death,  and  change,  and  darkness  everlasting, 
Deaf,  that  hears  not  what  the  daystar  saith, 

Blind,  past  all  remembrance  and  forecasting. 
Dead,  past  memory  that  it  once  drew  breath 

These,  above  the  wasliing  tides  and  wasting, 
Eeign,  and  rule  this  land  of  utter  death. 


Change  of  change,  darkness  of  darkness,  hidden. 

Very  death  of  very  death,  begun 
When  none  knows. — the  knowledge  is  forbidden — 

Self-begotten,  self-proceeding,  one, 
Born,  not  made — abhorred,  unchained,  unchidden, 

Night  stands  here  defiant  of  the  sun. 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  315 

3. 

Change  of  change,  and  death  of  deatli  begotten, 

Darkness  born  of  darkness,  one  and  three. 
Ghostly  godhead  of  a  world  forgotten, 

Crowned  with  heaven,  enthroned  on  land  and  sea, 
Here,  where  earth  with  dead  men's  bones  is  rotten, 

God  of  Time,  thy  likeness  worships  thee. 


Lo,  thy  likeness  of  thy  desolation. 

Shape  and  figure  of  thy  might,  0  Lord, 

Formless  form,  incarnate  miscreation, 

Served  of  all  things  living  and  abhorred  ; 

Earth  herself  is  here  thine  incarnation, 
Time,  of  all  things  born  on  earth  adored. 


All  that  worship  thee  are  fearful  of  thee  ; 

No  man  may  not  worship  thee  for  fear  : 
Prayers  nor  curses  prove  not  nor  disprove  thee, 

Move  nor  change  thee  with  our  chang^of  cheer 
All  at  last,  though  all  abhorred  thee,  love  thee, 

God,  the  sceptre  of  whose  throne  is  here. 


Here  thy  throne  and  sceptre  of  thy  station. 
Here  the  palace  paven  for  thy  feet ; 

Here  thy  sign  from  nation  unto  nation 

Passed  as  watchword  for  thy  guards  to  greet. 

Guards  that  go  before  thine^  exaltation, 
Ages,  clothed  with  bitter  years  and  sweet. 


Here,  where  sharp  the  sea-bird  shrills  his  ditty, 
Flickering  flame-wise  through  the  clear  live  calm, 

Rose  triumphal,  crowning  all  a  city. 

Roofs  exalted  once  with  prayer  and  psalm. 

Built  of  holy  hands  for  holy  pity, 

Frank  and  fruitful  as  a  sheltering  palm, 


316  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 


Church  and  hospice  wrought  in  faultless  fashion. 
Hall  and  chancel  bounteous  and  sublime. 

Wide  and  sweet  and  glorious  as  compassion, 
Filled  and  thrilled  with  force  of  choral  chime, 

Filled  with  spirit  of  prayer  and  thrilled  with  passion, 
Hailed  a  god  more  merciful  than  Time. 

9. 

Ah  !  less  mighty,  less  than  Time  prevailing, 
Shrunk,  expelled,  made  nothing  at  his  nod. 

Less  than  clouds  across  the  sea-line  sailing, 
Lies  he,  stricken  by  his  master's  rod. 

"  Where  is  man  ?  "  the  cloister  murmurs  wailing  ; 
Back  the  mute  shrine  thunders — "  Where  is  God?  " 


10. 

Here  is  all  the  end  of  all  his  glory, — 

Dust,  and  grass,  and  barren  silent  stones. 

Dead,  like  him,  one  hollow  tower  and  hoary 
Naked  in  the  sea-wind  stands  and  moans, 

Filled  and  thrilled  with  its  perpetual  story  : 

Here,  where  earth  is  dense  with  dead  men's  bones. 

11. 

Low  and  loud  and  long,  a  voice  forever. 
Sounds  the  wind's  clear  story  like  a  song. 

Tomb  from  tomb  the  waves  devouring  sever, 
Dust  from  dust  as  years  relapse  along  ; 

Graves  where  men  made  sure  to  rest,  and  never 
Lie  dismantled  by  the  seasons'  wrong. 


12. 

Now  displaced,  devoured  and  desecrated, 
Now  by  Time's  hands  darkly  disinterred. 

These  poor  dead  that  sleeping  here  awaited 
Long  the  archangel's  re-creating  word, 

Closed  about  with  roofs  and  walls  liigh-gated 
Till  the  blast  of  judgment  should  be  heard. 


BY  THE  NORTH  SEA.  317 

13. 

Naked,  shamed,  cast  out  of  consecration. 
Corpse  and  coffin,  yea,  the  very  graves. 

Scoffed  at,  scattered,  shaken  from  their  station, 
Spurned  and  scourged  of  wind  and  sea  like  slaves, 

Desolate  beyond  man's  desolation. 
Shrink  and  sink  into  the  waste  of  waves. 

14. 

Tombs,  with  bare  white  piteous  bones  protruded, 
Shroudless,  down  the  loose  collapsing  banks, 

Crumble,  from  their  constant  place  detruded. 
That  the  sea  devours  and  gives  not  thanks. 

Graves  where  hope  and  prayer  and  sorrow  brooded 
Gape  and  slide  and  perish,  ranks  on  ranks. 

15. 

Eows  on  rows,  and  line  by  line  they  crumbled. 
They  that  thought  for  all  time  through  to  be. 

Scarce  a  stone  whereon  a  child  might  stumble, 
Breaks  the  grim  field  paced  alone  of  me. 

Earth,  and  man,  and  all  their  gods  wax  humble, 
Here,  where  Time  brings  pasture  to  the  sea. 


VII. 

1. 

But  afar  on  the  headland  exalted, 
But  beyond  in  the  curl  of  the  bay, 

From  the  depth  of  his  dome  deep-vaulted. 
Our  father  is  lord  of  the  day. 

Our  father  and  lord  that  we  follow. 
For  deathless  and  ageless  is  he  ; 

And  his  robe  is  the  whole  sky's  hollow. 
His  sandal  the  sea. 


Where  the  horn  of  the  headland  is  sharper. 
And  her  green  floor  glitters  with  fire, 


318  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

The  sea  has  the  sun  for  a  harper, 
The  snn  has  the  sea  for  a  lyre. 

The  waves  are  a  pavement  of  amber. 
By  the  feet  of  the  sea-winds  trod. 

To  receive  in  a  god's  presence-chamber 
Our  father,  the  god. 

3. 

Time,  haggard  and  changeful  and  hoary. 
Is  master  and  god  of  the  land  : 

But  the  air  is  fulfilled  of  the  glory 

That  is  shed  from  our  lord's  right  hand. 

0  father  of  all  of  us  ever, 
All  glory  be  only  to  thee 

From  heaven,  that  is  void  of  thee  never. 
And  earth,  and  the  sea. 


0  Sun  !  whereof  all  is  beholden, 

Behold  now  the  shadow  of  this  death, 

This  place  of  the  sepulchres,  olden 
And  emptied  and  vain  as  a  breath. 

The  bloom  of  the  bountiful  heather 
Laughs  broadly  beyond  in  thy  light. 

As  dawn,  with  her  glories  to  gather, 
At  darkness  and  night. 


Though  the  gods  of  the  night  lie  rotten, 
And  their  honor  be  taken  away. 

And  the  noise  of  their  names  forgotten. 
Thou,  Lord,  art  god  of  the  day. 

Thou  art  father,  and  saviour,  and  spirit, 
0  Sun,  of  the  soul  that  is  free, 

And  hath  grace  of  thy  grace  to  inherit 
Thine  earth  and  thy  sea. 

6. 

The  hills  and  the  sands  and  the  beaches. 

The  waters  adrift  and  afar, 
The  banks  and  the  creeks  and  the  reaches. 

How  fflad  of  thee  all  these  are  ! 


ANACTORIA.  319 

The  flowers,  overflowing,  overcrowded, 

Are  drunk  witli  the  mad  wind's  niirtli  : 
The  delight  of  thy  coming  unclouded 
Makes  music  of  earth. 

7. 

I,  last  least  voice  of  her  voices, 

Give  thanks  that  were  mute  in  me  long 

To  the  soul  in  my  soul  that  rejoices 
For  the  song  that  is  over  my  song. 

Time  gives  what  he  gains  for  the  giving, 
Or  takes  for  his  tribute  of  me  ; 

My  dreams  to  the  wind  ever-living, 
My  song  to  the  sea. 


ANACTORIA. 

My  life  is  bitter  with  thy  love  ;  thine  eyes 

Blind  me,  thy  tresses  burn  me,  thy  sharp  sighs 

Divide  my  flesh  and  spirit  with  soft  sound, 

And  my  blood  strengthens,  and  my  veins  abound. 

I  pray  thee  sigh  not,  speak  not,  draw  not  breath  ; 

Let  life  burn  down,  and  dream  it  is  not  death. 

I  would  the  sea  had  hidden  us,  the  fire 

(Wilt  thou  fear  that,  and  fear  not  my  desire  ?) 

Severed  the  bones  that  bleach,  the  flesh  that  cleaves, 

And  let  our  sifted  ashes  drop  like  leaves. 

1  feel  thy  blood  against  my  blood  :  ray  pain 

Pains  thee,  and  lips  bruise  lips,  and  vein  stings  vein. 

Let  fruit  be  crushed  on  fruit,  let  flower  on  flower. 

Breast  kindle  breast,  and  either  burn  one  hour. 

Why  wilt  thou  follow  lesser  loves  ?  are  thine 

Too  weak  to  bear  these  hands  and  lips  of  mine  ? 

I  charge  thee  for  my  life's  sake,  0  too  sweet 

To  crush  love  with  thy  cruel  faultless  feet, 

I  charge  thee  keep  thy  lips  from  hers  or  his. 

Sweetest,  till  theirs  be  sweeter  than  my  kiss  : 

Lest  I  too  lure,  a  swallow  for  a  dove, 

Erotion  or  Erinna  to  my  love. 

I  would  my  love  could  kill  thee  ;  1  am  satiated 

With  seeing  thee  live,  and  fain  would  have  thee  dead. 


820  ANACTORIA. 

I  would  earth  had  thy  body  as  frnit  to  eat, 

And  no  mouth  hut  some  serpent's  found  thee  sweet. 

I  wouhl  find  grievous  ways  to  have  thee  shiin, 

Intense  device,  and  superflux  of  pain  ; 

Vex  thee  with  amorous  agonies,  and  shake 

Life  at  thy  lips,  and  leave  it  there  to  ache  ; 

Strain  out  thy  soul  with  pangs  too  soft  to  kill. 

Intolerable  interludes,   and  infinite  ill ; 

Relapse  and  reluctation  of  the  breath. 

Dumb  tunes  and  shuddering  semitones  of  death. 

I  am  weary  of  all  thy  words  and  soft  strange  ways. 

Of  all  love's  fiery  nights  and    all  his  days. 

And  all  the  broken  kisses  salt  as  brine 

That  shuddering  lips  make  moist  with  waterish  wine, 

And  eyes  the  bluer  for  all  tliose  hidden  hours 

That  pleasure  fills  with  tears  and  feeds  from  fiowers. 

Fierce  at  the  heart  with  fire  that  half  comes  through. 

But  all  the  flower-like  white  stained  round  with  blue  ; 

The  fervent  nnderlid.  and  that  above 

Lifted  with  laughter  or  abashed  with  love  ; 

Thine  amorous  girdle,  full  of  thee  and  fair, 

Aiul  leavings  of  the  lilies  in  thine  hair. 

Yea,  all  sweet  words  of  thine  and  all  thy  ways. 

And  all  the  fruit  of  nights  and  flower  of  days. 

And  stinging  lips  wherein  the  hot  sweet  brine 

That  love  was  born  of  burns   and  foams  like  wine, 

And  eyes  insatiable  of  amorous  hours, 

Fervent  as  fire  and  delicate  as  flowers, 

Colored  like  night  at  heart,  but  cloven  through 

Like  night  with  flame,  dyed  round  like  night  with 

blue. 
Clothed  with  deep  eyelids  under  and  above- 
Yea,  all  thy  beauty  sickens  me  with  love  ; 
Thy  girdle  empty  of  thee  and  now  uot  fair. 
And  ruinous  lilies  in  thy  languid  hair. 
Ah,  take  no  thought  for  Love's  sake  ;  shall  this  be. 
And  she  who  loves  thy  lover  not  love  thee  ? 
Sweet  soul,  sweet  mouth  of  all  that  laughs  and  lives. 
Mine  is  she,  very  mine  ;  and  she  forgives. 
For  I  beheld  in  sleep  the  light  that  is 
In  her  high  place  in  Paphos,  heard  the  kiss 
Of  body  and  soul  tluit  mix  with  eager  tears 
And  laughter  stinging  through  the  eyes  and  ears  ; 


ANACTORIA,  321 

Saw  Love,  as  burning  flame  from  crown  to  feet, 

Imperishable,  upon  her  storied  seat  ; 

Clear  eyelids  lifted  toward  the  north  and  south, 

A  mind  of  many  colors,  and  a  mouth 

Of  many  tunes  and  kisses  ;  and  she  bowed, 

With  all  her  subtle  face  laughing  aloud. 

Bowed  down  upon  me,   saying,  "Who    doth     thee 

wrong, 
Sappho  ?  "  but  thou — thy  body  is  the  song. 
Thy  mouth  the  music  ;  thou  art  more  than  I, 
Though  my  voice  die  not  till  the  whole  world  die  ; 
Though  men  that  hear  it  madden  ;  though  love  weep, 
Though  nature  change,  though  shame  be  charmed  to 

sleep. 
Ah,  wilt  thou  slay  me  lest  I  kiss  thee  dead  ? 
Yet  the  queen  laughed  from  her  sweet  heart  and  said  : 
*'  Even  she  that  flies  shall  follow  for  thy  sake, 
And  she  shall  give  thee  gifts  that  would  not  take. 
Shall  kiss  that  would  not  kiss  thee  "  (yea,  kiss  me) 
"  When  thou  wouldst  not  " — when  I  would  not  kiss 

thee  ! 
Ah,  more  to  me  than  all  men  as  thou  art, 
Shall  not  my  songs  assuage  her  at  the  heart  ? 
Ah,  sweet  to  me  as  life  seems  sweet  to  death. 
Why  should  her  wrath  fill  thee  with  fearful  breath  ? 
Nay,  sweet,  for  is  she  God  alone  ?  hath  she 
Made  eartli  and  all  the  centuries  of  the  sea, 
Taught  the  sun  ways  to  travel,  woven  most  fine 
The  moonbeams,  shed  the  starbeams  forth  as  wine. 
Bound  with  her  myrtles,  beaten  with  her  rods, 
The  young  men  and  the  maidens  and  the  gods  ? 
Have  we  not  lips  to  love  with,  eyes  for  tears. 
And  summer  and  flower  of  women  and  of  years  ? 
Stars  for  the  foot  of  morning,  and  for  noon 
Sunlight,  and  exaltation  of  the  moon  ; 
Waters  that  answer  waters,  fields  that  wear 
Lilies,  and  languor  of  the  Lesbian  air  ? 
Beyond  those  flying  feet  of  fluttered  doves. 
Are  there  not  other  gods  for  other  loves  ? 
Yea,  though   she    scourge  thee,    sweetest,   for    my 

sake. 
Blossom  not  thorns,  and  flowers   not  blood     should 

break. 

21 


322  ANACTORIA. 

Ah  that  my  lips  were  tuneless  lips,  but  pressed 

To  the  bruised  blossom  of  thy  scourged  white  breast ; 

Ah  that  my  mouth  for  Muses'  milk  were  fed 

On  the  sweet  blood  thy  sweet  small  wounds  had  bled  ! 

That  with  my  tongue  I  felt  them,  and  could  taste 

The  faint  flakes  from  thy  bosom  to  the  waist  I 

That  I  could  drink  thy  veins  as  wine,  and  eat 

Thy  breasts  like  honey  !  that  from  face  to  feet 

Thy  body  were  abolished  and  consumed, 

And  in  my  flesh  thy  very  flesii  entombed  ! 

Ah,  ah,  thy  beauty  !  like  a  beast  it  bites. 

Stings  like  an  adder,  like  an  arrow  smites. 

Ah  sweet,  and  sweet  again,  and  seven  times  sweet, 

The  paces  and  the  pauses  of  thy  feet ! 

Ah  sweeter  than  all  sleep  or  summer  air 

The  fallen  fillets  fragrant  from  thine  hair  ! 

Yea,  though  their  alien  kisses  do  me  wrong, 

Sweeter  thy  lips  than  mine  with  all  their  song  ; 

Thy  shoulders  whiter  than  a  fleece  of  white, 

And  flower-sweet  fingers,  good  to  bruise  or  bite 

As  honeycomb  of  the  inmost  honey-cells, 

With  almond-shaped  and  roseleaf-colored  shells, 

And  blood  like  purple  blossom  at  the  tips 

Quivering  ;  and  pain  made  perfect  in  thy  lips 

For  my  sake  when  I  hurt  thee  ;/'0  that  I 

Durst  crush  thee  out  of  life  with  love,  and  die. 

Die  of  thy  pain  and  my  delight,  and  be 

Mixed  with  thy  blood  and  molten  into  thee  ! 

Would  I  not  plague  thee  dying  overmuch  ? 

Would  I  not  hurt  thee  perfectly  ?  not  touch 

Thy  2)ores  of  sense  with  torture,  and  make  bright^^^ 

Thine  eyes  with  bloodlike  tears  and  grievous  lightj 

Strike  pang  from  pang  as  note  is  struck  from  note. 

Catch  the  sob's  middle  music  in  thy  throat, 

Take  thy  limbs  living,  and  new-mould  with  these 

A  lyre  of  many  faultless  agonies  ? 

Feed  thee  witfi  fever  and  famine  and  fine  drouth, 

With  perfect  pangs  convulse  thy  perfect  mouth, 

Make  thy  life  shudder  in  thee  and  burn  afresh, 

And  wring  thy  very  spirit  through  the  flesh  ? 

Cruel  ?  but  love  makes  all  that  love  him,  well 

As  wise  as  heaven  and  crueller  than  hell. 

Me  hath  love  made  more  bitter  toward  thee 


ANACTORIA.  323 

Than  death  toward  man  ;  but  were  I  made  as  he 

Who  hath  made  all  things  to  break  them  one  by  one. 

If  my  feet  trod  upon  the  stars  and  sun 

And  souls  of  men  as  his  have  alway  trod, 

God  knows  I  might  be  crueller  than  God. 

For  who  sluill  change  with  prayers  or  thanksgivings 

The  mystery  of  the  cruelty  of  things  ? 

Or  say  what  God  above  all  gods  and  years, 

With  offei'ing  and  blood-sacrifice  of  tears, 

With  lamentation  from  strange  lands,  from  graves 

Where  the  snake  pastures, from  scarred  mouth  of  slaves 

From  prison,  and  from  plunging  prows  of  ships 

Through  flanielike  foam  of  the  sea's  closing  lips — 

With  tiiwartings  of  strange  signs,  and  wind-blown  hair 

Of  comets,  desolating  the  dim  air, 

When  darkness  is  made  fast  with  seals  and  bars, 

And  fierce  reluctance  of  disastrous  stars. 

Eclipse,  and  sound  of  shaken  hills,  and  wings 

Darkening,  and  blind  inexjDiable  things — 

With  sorrow  of  laboring  moons,  and  altering  light 

And  travail  of  the  planets  of  the  night, 

And  weeping  of  the  weary  Pleiads  seven. 

Feeds  the  mute  melancholy  lust  of  heaven  ? 

Is  not  this  incense  bitterness,  his  meat 

Murder  ?  his  hidden  face  and  iron  feet 

Hath  not  man  known,  and  felt  them  on  their  way 

Threaten  and  trample  all  things  and  every  day  ? 

Hath  he  not  sent  us  hunger  ?  who  hath  cursed 

Spirit  and  flesh  with  longing  ?  filled  with  thirst 

Their  lips  who  cried  unto  him  ?  who  bade  exceed 

The  fervid  will,  fall  short  the  feeble  deed. 

Bade  sink  the  spirit  and  the  flesh  aspire, 

Pain  animate  the  dust  of  dead  desire. 

And  life  yield  up  her  flower  to  violent  fate  ? 

Him  would  I  reach,  him  smite,  him  desecrate, 

Pierce  the  cold  lips  of  God  with  huinan  breath, 

And  mix  his  immortality  with  death. 

Why  hath  he  made  us  ?  what  had  all  we  done 

That  we  should  live  and  loathe  the  sterile  sun. 

And  witli  the  moon  wax  paler  as  she  wanes, 

And  pulse  by  pulse  feel  time  grow  through  our  veins  ? 

Thee  too  tlie  years  shall  cover  ;  thou  shalt  be 

As  the  rose  born  of  one  same  blood  with  thee, 


324  ANACTORIA. 

As  a  song  sung,  as  a  word  said,  and  fall 

Flower-wise,  and  be  not  any  more  at  all, 

Nor  any  memory  of  thee  anywhere  ; 

For  never  Mnse  has  bound  above  thine  hair 

The  high  Pierian  flowers  whose  graft  outgrows 

All  summer  kinship  of  the  mortal  rose 

And  color  of  deciduous  days,  nor  shed 

Reflex  and  flush  of  heaven  about  thine  head, 

Nor  reddened  ])rows  made  pale  by  floral  grief 

With  splendid  shadow  from  that  lordlier  leaf. 

Yea,  thou  shalt  be  forgotten  like  spilt  wine. 

Except  these  kisses  of  my  lips  on  thine 

Brand  them  with  immortality  ;  but  me — 

Men  shall  not  see  bright  fire  nor  hear  the  sea, 

Nor  mix  their  hearts  with  music,  nor  behold 

Cast  forth  of  heaven  with  feet  of  awful  gold 

And  plumeless  wings  that  make  the  bright  air  blind. 

Lightning,  with  thunder  for  abound  behind 

Hunting  through  fields  unfurrowed  and  unsown — 

But  in  the  light  and  laughter,  in  the  moan 

And  music,  and  in  grasp  of  lip  and  hand 

And  shudder  of  water  that  makes  felt  on  land 

The  immeasurable  tremor  of  all  the  sea. 

Memories  shall  mix  and  metaphors  of  me. 

Like  me  shall  be  the  shuddering  calm  of  night, 

AVhen  all  the  winds  of  the  world  for  pure  delight 

Close  lips  that  quiver  and  fold  up  wings  that  ache  ; 

AVhen  nightingales  are  louder  for  love's  sake, 

And  leaves  tremble  like  lute-strings  or  like  fire ; 

Like  me  the  one  star  swooning  with  desire 

Even  at  the  cold  lips  of  the  sleepless  moon. 

As  I  at  thine  ;  like  me  the  waste  white  noon. 

Burnt  through  with  barren  sunlight ;  and  like  me 

The  land-stream  and  the  tide-stream  in  the  sea. 

I  am  sick  with  time  as  these  ebb  and  flow, 

And  by  the  yearning  in  my  veins  I  know 

The  yearning  sound  of  waters  ;  and  mine  eyes 

Burn  as  that  beamless  fire  which  fills  the  skies 

With  troubled  stars  and  travailing  tilings  of  flame; 

And  in  my  heart  the  grief  consuming  them 

Labors,  and  in  my  veins  the  thirst  of  these. 

And  all  the  summer  travail  of  the  trees 

And  all  the  winter  sickness  ;  and  the  earth, 


ANACTORIA.  325 

Filled  full  with   deadly  works  of  death  and  birth. 
Sore  spent  with  hungry  lusts  of  birth  and  death. 
Has  pain  like  mine  in  her  divided  breath; 
Her  spring  of  leaves  is  barren,  and  her  fruit 
Ashes  ;  her  boughs  are  burdened,  and  her  root 
Fibrous  and  gnarled  with  poison  ;  underneath 
Serpents  have  gnawn  it  through  with  tortuous  teeth 
Made  sharp  upon  the  bones  of  all  the  dead. 
And  wild  birds  rend  her  branches  overhead. 
These,  woven  as  raiment  for  his  word  and  thought. 
These  hath  God  made,  and  me  as  these,  and  wrought 
Song,  and  hath  lit  it  at  my  lips  ;  and  me 
Earth  shall  not  gather  tliough  slie  feed  on  thee. 
As  a  shed  tear  shalt  thou  be  shed  ;  but  I — 
Lo,  earth  may  labor,  men  live  long  and  die, 
Years  change  and  stars,  and  the  high  God  devise 
New  things,  and  old  things  wane  before  his  eyes 
Who  wields  and  wrecks  them,  being  more  strong  than 

they— 
But,  having  made  me,  me  he  shall  not  slay. 
Nor  slay  nor  satiate,  like  those  herds  of  his 
Who  laugh  and  live  a  little,  and  their  kiss 
Contents  them,  and  their  loves  are  swift  and  sweet. 
And  sure  death  grasps  and  gains  them  with  slow  feet. 
Love  they  or  hate  they,  strive  or  bow  their  knees — 
And  all  these  end  ;  he  hath  his  will  of  these. 
Yea,  but  albeit  he  slay  me,  hating  me — 
Albeit  he  hide  me  in  the  deep  dear  sea 
And  cover  me  with  cool  wan  foam,  and  ease 
This  soul  of  mine  as  any  soul  of  tliese. 
And  give  me  water  and  great  sweet  waves,  and  make 
The  very  sea's  name  lordlier  for  my  sake. 
The  whole  sea  sweeter — albeit  1  die  indeed 
And  hide  myself  and  sleep  and  no  man  heed. 
Of  me  the  high  God  hath  not  all  his  will. 
Blossom  of  branches,  and  on  each  high  hill 
Clear  air  and  wind,  and  under  in  clamorous  vales 
Fierce  noises  of  the  fiery  nightingales, 
Buds  burning  in  the  sudden  springlike  fire, 
The  wan  washed  sand  and  the  waves  'vain  desire. 
Sails  seen  like  blown  white  flowers  at  sea,and  words 
That  bring  tears  swiftest,  and  long  notes  of  bii'ds 
Violently  singing  till  the  whole  world  sings — . 


326  HYMN  TO  PROSERPINE. 

I  Sappho  shall  be  one  with  all  these  things. 
With  all  high  things  forever  ;  and  my  face 
Seen  once,  my  songs  once  heard  in  a  strange  place, 
Cleave  to  men  's  lives,   and  waste  the   days  thereof 
With  gladness  and  much  sadness  and  long  love. 
Yea,  they  shall  say,  earth's  womb  has  borne  in  vain 
New  things,  and  never  this  best  thing  again  ; 
Borne  days  and  men,  borne  fruits  and  wars  and  wine. 
Seasons  and  songs,  but  no  song  more  like  mine. 
And  they  shall  know  me  as  ye  who  have  known  me 

here. 
Last  year  when  I  loved  Atthis,  and  this  year 
When  I  love  thee  ;  and  they  shall  praise  me,  and  say 
"  She  hath  all  time  as  all  Ave  have  our  day. 
Shall  she  not  live  and  have  her  will  " — even  I  ? 
Yea,  though  thou  diest,  I  say  I  shall  not  die. 
For  these  shall  give  me  of  their  souls,  shall  give 
Life,  and  the  days  and  loves  wherewith  I  live, 
Shall  quicken  me  with  loving,  fdl  with  breath, 
Save  me  and  serve  me,  strive  for  me  with  death. 
Alas,  that  neither  moon  nor  snow  nor  dew 
Nor  all  cold  things  can  purge  me  wholly  through. 
Assuage  me  nor  allay  me  nor  appease. 
Till  supreme  sleep  shall  bring  me  bloodless  ease  ; 
Till  time  wax  faint  in  all  his  periods  ; 
Till  fate  undo  the  bondage  of  the  gods. 
And  lay,  to  slake  and  satiate  me  all  through, 
Lotus  and  Lethe  on  my  lij^s  like  dew. 
And  shed  around  and  over  and  under  me 
Thick  darkness  and  the  insuperable  sea. 

HYMN   TO  PEOSERPINE. 

(AFTER  THE  PROCLAMATION  IN  ROME  OP  THE  CHRISTIAN 
FAITH.) 

Vicisti,  Galilme. 

I  HAVE  lived  long  enough,  having  seen  one  thing,  that 

love  hath  an  end  ; 
Goddess  and  maiden  and  queen,  be  near  me  now  and 

befriend. 
Thou  art    more  than  the   day   or  the   morrow,  the 

seasons  that  laugh  or  that  weep  ; 


HYMN  TO  PROSERPINE.  327 

For  these  give  joy  and  sorrow  ;  but  thou,  Proserpina, 

sleep. 
Sweet  is  tlie  treading  of  wine,  and  sweet  the  feet  of 

the  dove  ; 
But  a  goodlier  gift  is  thine  than  foam  of  the  grapes 

or  love. 
Yea,  is  not  even  Apollo,  with  hair  and  harpstringof 

gold, 
A  bitter  God  to  follow,  a  beautiful  God  to   behold  ? 
I  am  sick  of  singing  :  the  bays  burn  deep  and  chafe: 

I  am  fain 
To  rest  a  little  from  praise  and  grievous  pleasure  and 

pain. 
For  the  Gods  we  know  not  of,  who  give  us  our  daily 

breath, 
"We  know  they  are  cruel  as  love  or  life,  and  lovely  as 

death. 

0  Gods    dethroned  and  deceased,  cast  forth,   wiped 

out  in  a  day  ! 
From  your  wrath    is  the  world  released,   redeemed 

from  your  chains,  men  say. 
New  Gods  are  crowned  in  the  city  ;  their  flowers  have 

broken  your  rods  ; 
They   are    merciful,   clothed  with  pity,    the  young 

compassionate  Gods. 
But  for  me  their  new  device  is  barren,    the  days  are 

bare  ; 
Things    long  past  over  suffice,    and  men  forgotten 

that  were. 
Time    and  the  Gods  are  at  strife  5  ye  dwell  in  the 

midst  thereof. 
Draining  a  little   life    from    the  barren    breasts  of 

love. 

1  say  to  you,  cease,  take  rest ;  yea,   I  say  to  you    all 

be  at  peace. 
Till  the  bitter    milk  of    her  breast  and  the  barren 

bosom  shall  cease. 
Wilt  thou  yet  take  all,  Galilean  ?  but  these  thou  shalt 

not  take. 
The  laurel,  the  palms  and  the  paean,  the  breast  of  the 

nymphs  in  the  brake  ; 
Breasts  more  soft  than  a  dove's^  that  tremble    with 

tenderer  breath  ; 


328  HYMN  TO  PROSERPINE. 

And  all  the  wings   of  the  Loves,    and  all  the  joy  be- 
fore death  ; 
All  the  feet  of  the  hours  that  sound  as  a  single  lyre, 
Dropped  and   deep   in  the  flowers,  with  strings  that 

flicker  like  fire, 
More  than  these  wilt  thou  give,  things  fairer  than  all 

these  things  ? 
Nay,    for    a   little   we  live,  and    life   hath    mutable 

wings. 
A  little   Avhile  and  we  die  ;  shall  life  not  thrive  as  it 

may  ? 
For  no  man  under  the  sky  lives  twice,   outliving  his 

day. 
And  grief  is  a  grievous  thing,  and  a  man  hath  enough 

of  his  tears  : 
Why  should  he  labor,  and  bring  fresh  grief  to  blacken 

his  years  ? 
Thou  hast  conquered,  0  pale  Galilean  ;  the  world  has 

grown  gray  from  thy  breath  ; 
We  have  drunken  of  things  Lethean,  and  fed  on  the 

fulness  of  death. 
Laurel  is  green  for  a  season,  and  love  is  sweet  for  a 

day; 
But  love  grows  bitter  with  treason,  and  laurel  outlives 

not  May. 
Sleep,  shall  we  sleep  after  all  ?  for  the  world  is  not 

sweet  in  the  end  ; 
For  the  old  faiths  loosen  and  fall,  the  new  years  ruin 

and  rend. 
Fate  is  a  sea  without  shore,  and  the  soul  is  a  rock  that 

abides  ; 
But  her  ears  are  vexed  with  the  roar  and  her  face  with 

the  foam  of  the  tides. 
0  lips  that  the  live  blood  faints  in',   the   leavings  of 

rack   and  rods  ! 

0  ghastly  glories  of  saints,   dead  limbs  of  gibbeted 

Gods  ! 
■     Though  all  men  abase  them  before  you  in  spirits,  and 
all  knees  bend, 

1  kneel  not  neither  adore  you,   but  standing,  look  to 

the  end. 
All  delicate  days  and  pleasant,  all  spirits  and  sorrows 
^re  cast 


HYMN  TO  PROSERPINE.  320 

Far  out  Avith  the  fonm  of  the  present  that  sweeps  to 

the  surf  of  the  past  : 
Where  beyond  the  extreme  sea-wall,  and  between  the 

remote  sea  gates, 
"Waste  water  washes,  and  tall  ships  founder,  and  deep 

death  waits  : 
Where,  mighty  with  deepening  sides,  clad  about  with 

the  seas  as  with  wings, 
And  impelled  of  invisible  tides,  f  ulfdled  of  unspeakable 

things. 
White-eyed  and  poisonous-finned,   shark-toothed  and 

serpentine-curled. 
Rolls,  under  the  whitening  wind  of  the  future,  the 

wave  of  the  world. 
The  depths  stand  naked  in  sunder  behind  it,  the  storms 

flee  away  ; 
In  the  hollow  before  it  the  thunder  is  taken  and  snared 

as  a  prey  ; 
In  its  sides  is  the  north-wind  bound  ;  and  its  salt  is  of 

all  men's  tears  ; 
With  light  of  ruin,  and  sound  of  changes,  and  pulse 

of  years  : 
With   travail  of  day  after  day,  and  with  trouble  of 

hour  upon  hour ; 
And  bitter  as  blood  is  the  spray  ;  and  the  crests   are 

as  fangs  that  devour  : 
And  its  vapor  and  storm  of  its  steam  as  tJie  sighing 

of  spirits  to  be  ; 
And  its  noise  as  the  noise  in  a  dream  ;  and  its  depth 

as  the  roots  of  the  sea  : 
And  the  height  of  its  head  as  the  height  of  the  ut- 
most stars  of  the  air  : 
And  the  ends  of  the  earth  at  the  miglit  thereof  trem- 
ble, and  time  is  made  bare. 
Will  ye  bridle  the  deep  sea  witli  reins,  will  ye  chasten 

the  high  sea  witli  rods  ? 
Will  ye  take  her  to  chain   lier  with  chains,  who  is 

older  than  all  ye  Gods  ? 
All  ye  as  a  wind  shall  go  by,   as  a  fire  shall  ye    pass 

and  be  past ; 
Ye  are  Gods,  and  behold,  ye  shall  die,  and  the  waves 

be  upon  you  at  last. 


330  HYMN  TO  PROSERPINE. 

In  the  darkness  of  time,  in  the  deeps  of  tlie  3'eiirs,  in 

the  changes  of  things, 
Ye  shall  sleep  as  a  slain  man   sleeps,  and    the  world 

shall  forget  you  for  kings. 
Though  the  feet  of  thine  high  priests  tread  where 

thy  lords  and  our  forefathers  trod. 
Though  these  that  were  Gods  are  dead,  and  thou  be- 
ing dead   art  a  God, 
Though  before  thee  the  throned  Cytherean  befallen, 

and  hidden  her  head, 
Yet  thy  kingdom  shall  pass,  Galilean,  thy  dead  shall 

go  down  to  the  dead. 
Of    the    maiden  thy  mother  men  sing  as  a  goddess 

witli  grace  clad  around  ; 
Thou  art   tlironed  where  another  was   king  ;  where 

another  was  queen  she  is  crowned. 
Yea,  once  we  had  sight  of  another  :  but  now  she  is 

queen,  say  these. 
Not  as  thine,  not  as  thine  was  our  mother,  a  blossom 

of  flowering  seas, 
Clothed  round  with  the  world's  desire  as  with  rai- 
ment, and  fair  as  the  foam, 
And  fleeter  than   kindled  fire,  and    a  goddess,   and 

mother  of  Rome. 
For  thine  came  pale  and  a  maiden,  and  sister  to  sor- 
row ;  but  ours, 
Her  deep  hair  heavily  laden  with  odor,  and  color  of 

flowers. 
White  rose  of  the  rose-white  water,  a  silver  splendor, 

a  flame, 
Bent  down  into  us  that  besought  her,  and  earth  grew 

sweet  with  her  name. 
For  thine  came  weeping,  a  slave  among  slaves,   and 

rejected  ;  but  she 
Came  flushed  from  the  full-flushed  wave,and  imperial, 

her  foot  on  the  sea. 
And  the  wonderful   waters  knew  her,  tlie  winds  and 

the  viewless  Avays, 
And  the  roses  grew  rosier,   and   bluer    the  sea-blue 

stream  of  the  bays. 
Ye  are  fallen,  our  lords,  by  what  token  ?  we  wist  that 

ye  should  not  fall. 


HYMN  TO  PEOSERPINE.  33I 

Ye  were  all  so  fair  that  are  broken  ;  and  one  more  fair 

than  ye  all. 
But  I  turn  to  her  still,  having  seen  she  shall  surely 

abide  in  the  end  ; 
Goddess  and  maiden    and  queen,  be  near  me  now  and 

befriend. 

0  daughter  of  earth,  of  my  mother,   her  crown  and 

blossom  of  birth, 

1  am  also,  I  also  thy  brother  ;I  go  as  I  came  unto  earth. 
In  the  night  where  thine  eyes  aje  as  moons  are  in 

heaven,  the  niglit  where  thou  art. 
Where  the  silence  is  more  than  all  tunes,  where  sleep 

overflows  from  tlie  heart, 
Where  the  poj^pies  are  sweet  as  the  rose  in  our  world, 

and  the  red  rose  is  white. 
And  the  wind  falls  faint  as  it  blows  with  the  fume  of 

the  flowers  of  the  night. 
And  the  murmur  of  spirits  that  sleep  in  the   shadow 

of  Gods  from  afar 
Grows  dim  in  thine  ears  and  deep  as  the  deep  dim 

soul  of  a  star, 
In  the  sweet  low  light  of  thy  face,  under  heavens 

untrod  by  the  sun, 
Let  my  soul  with  their  souls  find   place,    and  forget 

what  is  done  and  undone. 
Thou  art  more  than  the  Gods  who  number  the  days 

of  our  temporal  breath  ; 
For  these  give  labor  and  slumber  ;  but  thou,  Proser- 
pina, death. 
Therefore  now  at  thy  feet  I  abide  for  a  season  in 

silence.     I  know 
I  shall  die  as  my  fathers  died,  and  sleep  as  they  sleep  ; 

even  so. 
For  the  glass  of  the  years  is  brittle  wherein  we  gaze 

for  a  span  ; 
A  little  soul  for  a  little  bears  up  this  corpse  which  is 

man.* 
So  long  I  endure,  no  longer ;    and  laugh  not  again, 

neither  weep. 
For  there  is  no  God  found  stronger  than  death  ;  and 

death  is  a  sleep. 

*  ipvxupuiv  el  (Saarai^uu  veKpbv.     EPICTETUS. 


332  ILICET. 


ILICET. 

There  is  an  end  of  joy  and  sorrow  ; 
Peace  all  day  long,  all  night,  all  morrowi 

But  never  a  time  to  laugh  or  weep. 
The  end  is  come  of  pleasant  places. 
The  end  of  tender  words  and  faces. 

The  end  of  all,  the  poppied  sleep. 

No  place  for  sound  within  their  hearing. 
No  room  to  hope,  no  time  for  fearing, 

No  lips  to  laugh,  no  lids  for  tears. 
The  old  years  have  run  out  all  their  measure  ; 
No  chance  of  pain,  no  chance  of  pleasure. 

No  fragment  of  the  broken  years. 

Outside  of  all  the  worlds  and  ages. 
There  where  the  fool  is  as  the  sage  is. 

There  where  the  slayer  is  clean  of  blood, 
No  end,  no  passage,  no  beginning. 
There  where  the  sinner  leaves  off  sinning, 

There  where  the  good  man  is  not  good. 

There  is  not  one  thing  with  another. 
But  Evil  saith  to  Good  :  My  brother. 

My  brother,  I  am  one  with  thee  : 
They  shall  not  strive  nor  cry  forever  : 
No  man  shall  choose  between  them  :  never 

Shall  this  thing  end  and  that  thing  be. 

Wind  wherein  seas  and  stars  are  shaken 
Shall  shake  them,  and  they  shall  not  waken  : 

None  that  has  lain  down  shall  arise  ; 
The  stones  are  sealed  across  their  places  ; 
One  shadow  is  shed  on  all  their  faces. 

One  blindness  cast  on  all  their  eyes. 

Sleep,  is  it  sleep  perchance  that  covers 
Each  face,  as  each  face  were  his  lover's  ? 
Farewell ;  as  men  that  sleep  fare  well. 


ILICET.  333 

The  grave's  mouth  laughs  unto  derision. 

Desire  and  dread  and  dream  and  vision, 

Delight  of  heaven  and  sorrow  of  liell, 

No  soul  shall  tell  nor  lip  shall  number 
The  names  and  tribes  of  you  that  slumber  ; 

No  memory,  no  memorial. 
"■  Thou  knowest  " — who  shall  say  thou  knowest 
There  is  none  highest  and  none  lowest  : 

An  end,  an  end,  an  end  of  all. 

Good  night,  good  sleep,   good  rest  from  sorrow. 
To  these  that  shall  not  have  good  morrow ; 

The  gods  be  gentle  to  all  these. 
Nay,  if  death  be  not,  how  shall  they  be  ? 
Nay,  is  there  help  in  heaven  ?  it  may  be 

All  things  and  lords  of  things  shall  cease. 

The  stooped  urn,  filling,  dips  and  flashes  ; 
The  bronzed  brims  are  deej:)  in  ashes  ; 

The  pale  old  lips  of  death  are  fed. 
Shall  this  dust  gather  flesh  hereafter  ? 
Shall  one  shed  tears  or  fall  to  laughter. 

At  sight  of  all  these  poor  old  dead  ? 

• 
Nay,  as  thou  wilt ;  these  know  not  of  it  ; 
Thine  eye's  strong  weeping  shall  not  profit. 

Thy  laughter  shall  not  give  thee  ease  ; 
Cry  aloud,  spare  not,  cease  not  crying. 
Sigh,  till  tliou  cleave  tliy  sides  with  sighing, 

Thou  shalt  not  raise  up  one  of  these. 

Burnt  spices  flash,  and  burnt  wine  liisses, 
The  breathing  flame's  mouth  curls  and  kisses 

The  small  dried  rows  of  frankincense  ; 
All  round  the  sad  red  blossoms  smoulder. 
Flowers  colored  like  the  fire,  but  colder. 

In  sign  of  sweet  things  taken  hence  ; 

Yea,  for  their  sake  and  in  death's  favor 
Things  of  sweet  sha])e  and  of  sweet  savor 
We  yield  tliem,  spice  and  flower  and  wine  j 


334  ILICET. 

Yea,  costlier  things  than  wine  or  spices, 
Whereof  none  knoweth  how  great  the  price  is. 
And  fruit  that  comes  not  of  the  vine. 

From  boy's  pierced  throat  and  girl's  pierced   bosom 
Drips,  reddening  round  the  blood-red  blossom, 

The  slow  delicious  bright  soft  blood. 
Bathing  the  spices  and  the  pyre. 
Bathing  the  flowers  and  fallen  fire. 

Bathing  the  blossom  by  the  bud. 

Roses  whose  lips  the  flame  has  deadened 
Drink  till  the  lapping  leaves  are  reddened 

And  warm  wet  inner  petals  weep  ; 
The  flower  whereof  sick  sleep  gets  leisure, 
Barren  of  balm  and  pnrple  pleasure. 

Fumes  with  no  native  steam  of  sleep. 

Why  will  ye  weep  ?  what  do  ye  weeping? 
For  waking  folk  and  people  sleeping, 

iVnd  sands  that  fill  and  sands  that  fall. 
The  days  rose-red,  the  poppied  hours, 
Blood,  wine,  and  spice  and  fire  and  flowers, 

There  is  one  end  of  one  and  all. 

« 

Shall  such  an  one  lend  love  or  borrow  ? 
Shall  these  be  sorry  for  thy  sorrow  ? 

Shall  these  give  thanks  for  words  or  breath  ? 
There  hate  is  as  their  loving-kindness  ; 
The  frontlet  of  their  brows  is  blindness. 

The  armlet  of  their  arms  is  death. 

Lo,  for  no  noise  or  light  of  thunder 

Shall  these  grave-clothes  be  rent  in  sunder. 

He  that  hath  taken,  shall  he  give  ? 
He  hath  rent  them  :  shall  he  bind  together  ? 
He  hath  bound  them  :  shall  he  break  the  tether  ? 

He  hath  slain  them  :  shall  he  bid  them  live  ? 

A  little  sorrow,  a  little  pleasure, 
Fate  metes  us  from  the  dusty  measure 
That  holds  the  date  of  all  of  us  ; 


ILICET.  32 

We  are  born  with  travail  and  strong  crying, 
And  from  the  birthday  to  the  dying 
The  likeness  of  our  life  is  thus. 

One  girds  himself  to  serve  another, 
Wliose  father  was  the  dust,  whose  mother 

The  little  dead  red  worm  tlierein  ; 
They  find  no  fruit  of  things  they  cherish  ; 
The  goodness  of  a  man  sliall  perish. 

It  shall  be  one  thing  with  his  sin. 

In  deep  wet  ways  by  gray  old  gardens 

Fed  with  sharp  spring  the  sweet  fruit  hardens ; 

I'hey  know  not  what  fruits  wane  or  grow  ; 
Red  summer  burns  to  the  utmost  ember  ; 
They  know  not,  neither  can  remember, 

The  old  years  and  flowers  they  used  to  know. 

Ah,  for  their  sakes,  so  trapped  and  taken. 
For  theirs,  forgotten  and  forsaken, 

Watch,  sleep  not,  gird  thyself  with  prayer. 
Nay,  where  the  heart  of  wrath  is  broken. 
Where  long  love  ends  as  a  thing  spoken. 

How  sliall  thy  crying  enter  there  ? 

Though  the  iron  sides  of  the  old  world  falter 
The  likeness  of  them  shall  not  alter 

For  all  the  rumor  of  periods, 
The  stars  and  seasons  that  come  after. 
The  tears  of  latter  men,  tlie  laughter 

Of  the  old  unalterable  gods. 

Far  up  above  the  years  and  nations. 

The  high  gods,  clothed  and  crowned  with  patience, 

Endure  through  days  of  death-like  date  ; 
They  bear  the  witness  of  things  hidden  ; 
Before  their  eyes  all  life  stands  cliidden. 

As  they  before  the  eyes  of  Fate. 

Not  for  their  love  shall  Fate  retire. 
Nor  they  relent  for  our  desire. 
Nor  the  graves  open  for  their  call. 


836  HERMAPHRODITUS. 

The  end  is  more  than  joy  and  anguish, 
Thau  lives  tliat  laugh  and  lives  that  languish. 
The  poj^pied  sleep,  the  end  of  all. 

HERMAPHRODITUS. 


Lift  up  thy  lips,  turn  round,  look  back  for  love, 

Blind  love  that  comes  by  night  and  casts  out  rest ; 

Of  all  things  tired  thy  lips  look  weariest. 
Save  the  long  smile  that  they  are  wearied  of. 
Ah  sweet,  albeit  no  love  be  sweet  enough, 

Choose  of  two  loves  and  cleave  unto  the  best; 

Two  loves  at  either  blossom  of  thy  breast 
Strive  until  one  be  under  and  one  above. 
Their  breath  is  fire  upon  the  amorous  air, 

Fire  in  thine  eyes  and  wliere  thy  lips  suspire  : 
And  whosoever  hath  seen  thee,  being  so  fair. 

Two  things  turn  all  his  life  and  blood  to  fire ; 
A  strong  desire  begot  on  great  despair, 

A  great  despair  cast  out  by  strong  desire. 

II. 

Where  between  sleep  and  life  some  brief  space  is. 
With  love  like  gold  bound  round  about  the  head. 
Sex  to  sweet  sex  with  lips  and  limbs  is  wed. 

Turning  the  fruitful  feud  of  hers  and  his 

To  the  waste  wedlock  of  a  sterile  kiss  ; 

Yet  from  them  something  like  as  fire  is  shed 
That  shall  not  be  assuaged  till  death  be  dead. 

Though  neither  life  nor  sleep  can  find  out  this. 

Love  made  himself  of  flesh  that  perisheth 
A  pleasure-house  for  all  the  loves  his  kin  ; 

But  on  the  one  side  sat  a  man  like  death, 
And  on  the  other  a  woman  sat  like  sin. 

So  with  veiled  eyes  and  sobs  between  his  breath 
Love  turned  himself  and  would  not  enter  in. 

III. 

Love,  is  it  love  or  sleep  or  shadow  or  light 

That  lies  between  thine  eyelids  and  thine  eyes  ? 
Like  a  flower  laid  upon  a  flower  it  lies, 


FRAGOLETTA.  337 

Or  like  the  niglit's  dew  laid  i;pon  the  night. 
Love  stands  upon  thy  left  hand  and  thy  right. 

Yet  by  no  sunset  and  by  no  moonrise 

Shall  make  thee  man  and  ease  a  woman's  sighs. 
Or  make  thee  woman  for  a  man's  delight. 
To  what  strange  end  hath  some  strange  god  made  fair 

The  double  blossom  of  two  fruitless  flowers  ? 
Hid  love  in  all  the  folds  of  all  thy  hair, 

Fed  thee  on  summers,  watered  thee  with  showers. 
Given  all  the  gold  that  all  the  seasons  wear 

To  thee  that  art  a  thing  of  barren  hours  ? 


IV. 

Yea,  love,  I  see  ;  it  is  not  love  but  fear. 

Xay,  sweet,  it  is  not  fear  but  love,  I  know  ; 

Or  wherefore  should  thy  body's  blossom  blow 
So  sweetly,  or  thine  eyelids  leave  so  clear 
Thy  gracious  eyes  that  never  made  a  tear — 

Though  for  their  love  our  tears  like  blood  should 
flow, 

Though  love  and  life  and  death  should  come  and  go, 
So  dreadful,  so  desirable,  so  dear  ? 
Yea,  sweet,  I  know  ;  I  saw  in  what  swift  Avise 

Beneath  the  woman's  and  the  water's  kiss 

Thy  moist  limbs  melted  into  Salmacis, 
And  the  large  liglit  turned  tender  in  thine  eyes. 
And  all  thy  boy's  breath  softened  into  sighs  ; 

But  Love  being  blind,  how  should  he  know  of  this  ? 

Au  Muste  du  Louvre,  Mars,  1863. 


FEAGOLETTA. 

0  Love  !  what  shall  be  said  of  thee  ? 
The  son  of  grief  begot  by  joy  ? 
Being  sightless,  wilt  thou  see  ? 
Being  sexless,  wilt  thou  be 
Maiden  or  boy  ? 

1  dreamed  of  strange  lips  yesterday 

And  cheeks  wherein  tlie  ambiguous  blood 

Was  like  a  rose's — yea, 
?3 


338  FRAGOLETTA. 

A  rose's  when  it  lay 
Within  the  bud. 

What  fields  have  bred  thee,  or  what  groves 
Concealed  thee,  0  mysterious  flower, 

0  double  rose  of  Love's, 

With  leaves  that  lure  the  doves 
From  bud  to  bower  ? 

1  dare  not  kiss  it,  lest  my  lip 

Press  harder  than  an  indrawn  breath, 
And  all  the  sweet  life  slip 
Forth,  and  the  sweet  leaves  drip, 
Bloodlike,  in  death. 

0  sole  desire  of  my  delight ! 
0  sole  delight  of  my  desire  ! 
Mine  eyelids  and  eyesight 
Feed  on  thee  day  and  night 
Like  lips  of  fire. 

Lean  back  thy  throat  of  carven  pearl. 
Let  thy  mouth  murmur  like  the  dove's  ; 
Say,  Venus  hath  no  girl, 
No  front  of  female  curl. 
Among  her  Loves. 

Thy  sweet  low  bosom,  thy  close  hair. 
Thy  strait  soft  flanks  and  slenderer  feet. 
Thy  virginal  strange  air, 
Are  these  not  over  fair 
For  Love  to  greet  ? 

How  should  he  greet  thee  ?  what  new  name. 
Fit  to  move  all  men's  hearts,  could  move 
Thee,  deaf  to  love  or  shame, 
Love's  sister,  by  the  same 
Mother  as  Love  ? 

Ah  sweet,  the  maiden's  mouth  is  cold. 
Her  breast-blossoms  are  simply  red, 
Her  hair  mere  brown  or  gold, 
Fold  over  simple  fold 
Binding  her  head. 


IN  THE  ORCHARD.  339 

Thy  mouth  is  made  of  fire  and  wine. 
Thy  barren  bosom  takes  my  kiss 
And  turns  my  soul  to  thine 
And  turns  thy  lip  to  mine, 
And  mine  it  is. 

Thou  hast  a  serpent  in  thine  hair, 
In  all  the  curls  that  close  and  cling  ; 
And  ah,  thy  breast-flower  ! 
Ah  love,  thy  mouth  too  fair 
To  kiss  and  sing  ! 

Cleave  to  me,  love  me,  kiss  mine  eyes. 
Satiate  thy  lips  with  loving  me  ; 
Nay,  for  thou  shalt  not  rise  ; 
Lie  still  as  Love  that  dies 
For  love  of  thee. 

Mine  arms  are  close  about  thine  head. 
My  lips  are  fervent  on  thy  face, 
And  where  my  kiss  hath  fed 
Thy  flower-like  blood  leaps  red 
To  the  kissed  j^lace. 

0  bitterness  of  things  too  sweet 
0  broken  singing  of  the  dove  ! 
Love's  wings  are  over  fleet. 
And  like  the  panther's  feet 
The  feet  of  Love. 


IN  THE  OECHARD. 

(PROVENgAL    BURDEN.) 

Leave  go  my  hands,  let  me  catch  breath  and  see 
Let  the  dew-fall  drench  either  side  of  me  ; 

Clear  apple-leaves  are  soft  upon  that  moon 
Seen  sidelong  like  a  blossom  in  the  tree  ; 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  bo  so  soon. 

The  grass  is  thick  and  cool,  it  lets  us  lie. 

Kissed  upon  eitlier  clieek  and  either  eye, 

I  turn  to  thee  as  some  green  afternoon 


340  IN  THE  ORCHARD. 

Turns  toward  sunset,  and  is  loath  to  die  ; 
Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 

Lie  closer,  lean  your  face  upon  my  side. 

Feel  where  the  dew  fell  that  has  hardly  dried. 

Hear  how  the  blood  beats  that  went  nigh  to  swoon  ; 
The  pleasure  lives  there  when  the  sense  has  died  ; 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 

0  my  fair  lord,  I  charge  you  leave  me  this  : 
Is  it  not  sweeter  than  a  foolish  kiss  ? 

Nay  take  it  then,  my  flower,  my  first  in  June, 
My  rose,  so  like  a  tender  mouth  it  is  : 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 

Love,  till  dawn  sunder  night  from  day  with  fire. 
Dividing  my  delight  and  my  desire, 

The  crescent  life  and  love  the  plenilune. 
Love  me  though  dusk  begin  and  dark  retire  ; 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 

Ah,  my  heart  fails,  my  blood  draws  back  ;  I  know. 
When  life  runs  over,  life  is  near  to  go  ; 

And  with  the  slain  of  love  love's  ways  are  strewn, 
And  witli  their  blood,  if  love  will  have  it  so  ; 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 

Ah,  do  thy  will  now  ;  slay  me  if  thou  wilt ; 
There  is  no  building  now  the  walls  are  built, 

No  quarrying  now  tlie  corner-stone  is  hewn. 
No  drinking  now  the  vine^s  whole  blood  is  spilt  ; 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 

Nay,  slay  me  now  ;  nay,  for  I  will  be  slain  ; 
Pluck  thy  red  pleasure  from  the  teeth  of  pain. 

Break  down  thy  vine  ere  yet  grape-gatherers  prune, 
Slay  me  ere  day  can  slay  desire  again  ; 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 

Yea,  with  thy  sweet  lips,  thy  sweet  sword  ;  yea, 
Take  life  and  all,  for  I  will  die,  I  say  ; 

Love,  I  gave  love,  is  life  a  better  boon  ? 
For  sweet  night's  sake  I  will  not  live  till  day  ; 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 


A  MATCH.  341 

Nay,  I  will  sleep  then  only  ;  nay,  but  go. 
Ah  sweet,  too  sweet  to  me,  my  sweet,  I  know 

Love,  sleep,  and  death  go  to  the  sweet  same  tune  ; 
Hold  my  hair  fast,  and  kiss  me  through  it  so. 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon. 


A  MATCH. 

If  love  were  what  the  rose  is. 
And  I  were  like  the  leaf, 

Onr  lives  would  grow  together 

In  sad  or  singing  weather. 

Blown  fields  or  flowerf  ul  closes. 
Green  pleasure  or  gray  grief  ; 

If  love  were  what  the  rose  is. 
And  I  were  like  the  leaf. 

If  I  were  what  the  words  are. 

And  love  were  like  the  tune. 
With  double  sound  and  single 
Delight  our  lips  would  mingle. 
With  kisses  glad  as  birds  are 

That  get  sweet  rain  at  noon  ; 
If  I  were  what  the  words  are 
And  love  were  like  the  tune. 

If  you  were  life,  my  darling. 
And  I  your  love  were  death. 

We'd  shine  and  snow  together 

Ere  March  made  sweet  the  weather 

With  daffodil  and  starling 

And  hours  of  fruitful  breath  ; 

If  you  were  life,  my  darling, 
And  I  your  love  were  death. 

If  you  were  thrall  to  sorrow. 

And  I  were  page  to  joy. 
We'd  play  for  lives  and  seasons 
With  loving  looks  and  treasons 
And  tears  of  night  and  morrow 

And  laughs  of  maid  and  boy  ; 
If  you  were  thrall  to  sorrow, 

And  I  were  page  to  joy. 


342  FAUSTINE. 

If  you  were  April's  lady, 

And  I  were  lord  iu  May, 
We'd  throw  with  leaves  for  hours 
And  draw  for  days  with  flowers, 
Till  day  like  night  were  shady. 

And  night  were  bright  like  day  ; 
If  you  were  April's  lady. 
And  I  were  lord  in  May. 

If  you  were  queen  of  pleasure. 

And  I  were  king  of  pain, 
We'd  hunt  down  love    together. 
Pluck  out  his  flying  feather. 
And  teach  his  feet  a  measure, 
And  find  his  mouth  a  rein  ; 
If  you  were  queen  of  pleasure, 
And  I  were  king  of  pain. 


FAUSTINE. 

Ave  Faustina  Imperatrix,  morituri  te  salutant. 

Lean  back,  and  get  some  minutes'  peace ; 

Let  your  head  lean 
Back  to  the  shoulder  with  its  fleece 

Of  locks,  Faustine. 

The  shapely  silver  shoulder  stoops, 

Weighed  over  clean 
With  state  of  splendid  hair  that  droops 

Each  side,  Faustine. 

Let  me  go  over  your  good  gifts 

That  crown  you  queen  ; 
A  queen  whose  kingdom  ebbs  and  shifts 

Each  week,  Faustine. 

Bright  heavy  brows  well  gathered  up  : 

White  gloss  and  sheen  ; 
Carved  lips  that  make  my  lips  a  cup 

To  drilik,  Faustine, 


FAUSTINE.  343 

Wine  and  rank  poison,  milk  and  blood, 

Being  mixed  therein 
Since  first  the  devil  threw  dice  with  God 

For  you,  Faustiue. 

Your  naked  new-born  soul,  their  stake, 

Stood  blind  between  ; 
God  said  "  let  him  that  wins  her  take 

And  keep  Faustine." 

But  this  time  Satan  throve,  no  doubt : 

Long  since,  I  ween, 
God's  part  in  you  was  battered  out ; 

Long  since,  Faustine. 

The  die  rang  sideways  as  it  fell,  ^ 

Rang  cracked  and  thin, 
Like  a  man's  laughter  heard  in  hell 

Far  down,  Faustine. 

A  shadow  of  laughter  like  a  sigh. 

Dead  sorrow's  kin  ; 
So  rang,  thrown  down,  the  devil's  die 

That  won  Faustine. 

A  suckling  of  his  breed  you  were. 

One  hard  to  wean  ; 
But  God,  who  lost  you,  left  you  fair. 

We  see,  Faustine. 

You  have  the  face  that  suits  a  woman 

For  her  soul's  screen — 
The  sort  of  beauty  that's  called  human 

In  hell,  Faustine. 

You  could  do  all  things  but  be  good 

Or  chaste  of  mien  ; 
And  that  you  would  not  if  you  could. 

We  know,  Faustine. 

Even  he  who  cast  seven  devils  out 

Of  Magdalene 
Could  hardly  do  as  much,  [  doubt. 

For  you,  Faustine. 


^4  FAUSTINE. 

Did  Satan  make  you  to  spite  God  ? 

Or  did  God  mean 
To  scourge  with  scorpions  for  a  rod 

Our  sins,  Faustine  ? 

I  know  what  queen  at  first  you  were. 

As  though  I  had  seen 
Eed  gold  and  Wack  imperious  hair 

Twice  crown  Faustine. 

As  if  your  fed  sarcophagus 

Spared  flesh  and  skin, 
You  come  back  face  to  face  with  us 

The  same  Faustine. 

She  loved  the  games  men  played  with  death. 

Where  death  must  win  ; 
As  though  the  slain  man's  blood  and  breath 

Revived  Faustine. 

Nets  caught  the  pike,  pikes  tore  the  net ; 

Lithe  limbs  and  lean 
From  drained-out  pores  dripped  thick  red  sweat 

To  soothe  Faustine. 

She  drank  the  steaming  drift  and  dust 

Blown  off  the  scene  ; 
Blood  could  not  ease  the  bitter  lust 

That  galled  Faustine. 

All  round  the  foul  fat  furrows  reeked. 

Where  blood  sank  in  ; 
The  circus  splashed  and  seethed  and  shrieked 

All  round  Faustine. 

But  these  are  gone  now  :  years  entomb 

The  dust  and  din  ; 
Yea,  even  the  bath's  fierce  reek  and  fume 

That  slew  Faustine. 

Was  life  worth  living  then  ?  and  now 

Is  life  worth  sin  ? 
Where  are  the  imperial  years  ?  and  how 

Are  you,  Faustine  ? 


FAUSTINE.  845 

Vonr  sonl  forgot  her  joys,  forgot 

Her  times  of  teen  ; 
Yea,  this  life  likewise  will  you  uot 

Forget,  Faustine  ? 

For  in  the  time  we  know  not  of 

Did  fate  begin 
Weaving  the  web  of  days  that  wove 

Your  doom,  Faustine. 

The  threads  were  wet  with  wine,  and  all 

Were  smooth  to  spin  ; 
They  wove  yon  like  a  Bacchanal, 

The  first  Faustine. 

And  Bacchus  cast  your  mates  and  you 

Wild  grapes  to  glean  ; 
Your  flower-like  lips  were  dashed  with  dew 

From  his,  Faustine. 

Your  drenched   loose  hands  were  stretched  to  hold 

The  vine's  wet  green, 
Long  ere  they  coined  in  Roman  gold 

Your  face,  Faustine. 

Then  after  change  of  soaring  feather 

And  winnowing  fin, 
You  woke  in  weeks  of  feverish  weather, 

A  new  Faustine. 

A  star  upon  your  birthday  burned, 

Whose  fierce  serene 
Red  pulseless  planet  never  yearned 

In  heaven,  Faustine. 

Stray  breaths  of  Sapphic  song  that  blew 

Through  Mitylene 
Shook  the  fierce  quivering  blood  in  you 

By  night,  Faustine. 

The  shameless  nameless  love  that  makes 

Hell's  iron  gin 
Shut  on  you  like  a  trap  that  breaks 

The  soul,  Faustine. 


346  FAUSTINE. 

And  when  your  veins  Avere  void  and  dead, 

What  ghosts  unclean 
Swarmed  round  the  straitened  barren  bed 

That  hid  Faustine  ? 

What  sterile  growths  of  sexless  root 

Or  epicene  ? 
What  flower  of  kisses  without  fruit 

Of  love,  Faustine  ? 

What  adders  came  to  shed  their  coats  ? 

What  coiled  obscene 
Small  serpents  with  soft  stretching  throats 

Caressed  Faustine  ? 

But  the  time  came  of  famished  hours, 

Maimed  loves  and  mean, 
This  ghastly  thin-faced  time  of  ours, 

To  spoil  Faustine. 

You  seem  a  thing  that  hinges  hold, 

A  love-machiue 
With  clockwork  joints  of  supple  gold 

No  more,  Faustine. 

Not  godless,  for  you  serve  one  God, 

The  Lampsacene, 
Who  metes  the  gardens  with  his  rod  ; 

Your  lord,  Faustine. 

If  one  should  love  you  with  real  love 

(Such  things  have  been. 
Things  your  fair  face  knows  nothing  of. 

It  seems,  Faustine)  ; 

That  clear  hair  heavily  bound  back. 

The  lights  wherein 
Shift  from  dead  blue  to  burnt-up  black  : 

Your  throat,  Faustine, 

Strong,  heavy,  throwing  out  the  face 

And  hard  bright  chin 
And  shameful  scornful  lips  that  grace 

Their  shame,  Faustine, 


STAGE  LOVE.  347 

Curled  lips,  long  since  half  kissed  away. 

Still  sweet  and  keen  ; 
You'd  give  him — poison  shall  we  say  "i 

Or  what,  Faustine  ? 


A  CAMEO. 

There  was  a  graven  image  of  Desire 

Painted  with  red  blood  on  a  ground  of  gold 
Passing  between  the  young  men  and  the  old, 
And  by  him  Pain,  whose  body  shone  like  fire. 
And  Pleasure  with  gaunt  hands  that  grasped  their 
hire. 
Of  his  left  wrist,  with  fingers  clenched  and  cold. 
The  insatiable  Satiety  kept  hold. 

Walking  with  feet  unshod  that  plashed  the  mire. 
The  senses  and  the  sorrows  and  the  sins, 

And  the  strange  loves  that  suck  the  breasts  of 
Hate 

Till  lips  and  teeth  bite  in  their  sharp  indenture, 
Followed  like  beasts  with  flap  of  wings  and  fins. 

Death  stood  aloof  behind  a  gaping  grate. 

Upon  whose  lock  was  written  Per  adventure. 


STAGE  LOVE. 

When  the  game  began  between  them  for  a  jest. 

He  played  king  and  she  jDlayed  queen  to  match  the 
best ; 

Laughter  soft  as  tears,  and  tears  that  turned  to  laugh- 
ter. 

These  were  things  she  sought  for  years  and  sorrowed 
after. 

Pleasure  with  dry  lips,  and  pain  that  walks  by  night ; 
All  the  sting  and  all  the  stain  of  long  delight  ; 
These  were  things  she  knew  not  of,  that  knew  not  of 

her. 
When  she  played  at  half  a  love  with  half  a  lover. 


348  THE  LEPER. 

Time  was  chorus,  gave  them  cues  to  laugh  or  cry ; 
They  would  kill,  befool,  amuse  him,  let  him  die  ; 
Set  him  webs  to  weave  to-day  and  break  to-morrow. 
Till  he  died  for  good  in  play,  and  rose  in  sorrow. 

What  the  years  mean  ;  how  time  dies  and  is  not  slain  ; 
How  love  grows  and  laughs  and  cries  and  wanes  again  ; 
These  were  tilings  she  came  to  know,  and  take  their 

measure. 
When  the  play  was  played  out  so  for  one    man's 

pleasure. 


THE  LEPER. 

Nothing  is  better,  I  well  think, 
Than  love  ;  the  hidden  well-water 

Is  not  so  delicate  to  drink  : 

This  was  well  seen  of  me  and  her. 

I  served  her  in  a  royal  house  ; 

I  served  her  wine  and  curious  meat 
For  will  to  kiss  between  her  brows 

I  had  no  heart  to  sleep  or  eat. 

Mere  scorn  God  knows  she  had  of  me  ; 

A  poor  scribe,  nowise  great  or  fair. 
Who  plucked  his  clerk's  hood  back  to  see 

Her  curled-up  lips  and  amorous  hair. 

I  vex  my  head  withthinking  this. 

Yea,  though  God  always  hated  me, 
And  hates  me  now  that  I  can  kiss 

Her  eyes,  plait  up  her  hair  to  see 

How  she  then  wore  it  on  the  brows, 
'     Yet  am  I  glad  to  have  her  dead 
Here  in  this  wretched  wattled  house 
Where  I  can  kiss  her  eyes  and  head. 

Nothing  is  better,  I  well  know, 
Than  love  ;  no  amber  in  cold  sea 

Or  gathered  berries  under  snow  : 
That  is  well  seen  of  her  and  me. 


THE  LEPER.  34-9 

Three  thoughts  I  make  my  pleasure  of : 
First  I  take  heart  and  think  of  this  : 

That  knight's  gold  hair  she  chose  to  love. 
His  mouth  she  had  such  will  to  kiss. 

Then  I  remember  that  sundawn 

I  brought  him  by  a  privy  way 
Out  at  her  lattice,  and  thereon 

What  gracious  words  she  found  to  say. 

(Cold  rushes  for  such  little  feet — 

Both  feet  could  lie  into  my  hand. 
A  marvel  was  it  of  my  sweet 

Her  upright  body  could  so  stand.) 

"Sweet  friend,  God  give  you  thank  and  grace 
Now  am  I  clean  and  whole  of  shame. 

Nor  shall  men  burn  me  in  the  face 

For  my  sweet  fault  that  scandals  them." 

I  tell  you  over  word  by  word. 

She,  sitting  edgewise  on  her  bed, 
Holding  her  feet,  said  thus.     The  third, 

A  sweeter  thing  than  these,  I  said. 

God,  that  makes  time  and  ruins  it. 

And  altei's  not,  abiding  God, 
Changed  with  disease  her  body  sweet. 

The  body  of  love  wherein  she  abode. 

Love  is  more  sweet  and  comelier 

Than  a  dove's  throat  strained  out  to  sing. 

All  they  spat  out  and  cursed  at  her 
And  cast  her  forth  for  a  base  thing. 

They  cursed  her,  seeing  how  God  had  wrought 
This  curse  to  plague  her,  a  curse  of  his. 

Fools  were  they  surely,  seeing  not 
How  sweeter  than  all  sweet  she  is. 

He  that  had  held  her  by  the  hair, 
With  kissing  lips  blinding  her  eyes. 

Felt  her  bright  bosom,  strained  and  bare, 
Sigh  under  him,  with  short  mad  cries 


350  THE  LEPER. 

Out  of  her  throat  and  sobbing  month 
And  body  broken  up  with  love, 

With  sweet  hot  tears  his  lips  wei-e  loath 
Her  own  should  taste  the  savor  of, 

Yea,  he  inside  whose  grasp  all  night 
Her  fervent  body  leapt  or  lay, 

Stained  with  sharp  kisses  red  and  white. 
Found  her  a  plague  to  spurn  away. 

I  hid  her  in  this  wattled  house, 
I  served  her  water  and  poor  bread. 

For  joy  to  kiss  between  her  brows 
Time  upon  time  I  was  nigh  dead. 

Bread  failed  ;  we  got  but  well-water 
And  gathered  grass  with  dropping  seed. 

I  had  such  joy  of  kissing  her, 
I  had  small  care  to  sleep  or  feed. 

Sometimes  when  service  made  me  glad 
The  sharp  tears  leapt  between  my  lids, 

Falling  on  her,  such  joy  I  had 
To  do  the  service  God  forbids. 

"  I  pray  you  let  me  be  at  peace, 

Get  hence,  make  room  for  me  to  die."  i 

She  said  that  :  her  poor  lip  would  cease,  ' 
Put  up  to  mine,  and  turn  to  cry. 

I  said,"  Bethink  yourself  how  love 
Fared  in  us  twain,  what  either  did  ; 

Shall  I  unclothe  my  soul  thereof  ? 
That  I  should  do  this,  God  forbid." 

Yea,  though  God  hateth  us,  he  knows 
That  hardly  in  a  little  thing 

Love  faileth  of  the  work  it  does 
Till  it  grow  ripe  for  gathering. 

Six  months,  and  now  my  sweet  is  dead 
A  trouble  takes  me  ;  I  know  not 

If  all  were  done  well,  all  well  said. 
No  word  or  tender  deed  forgot. 


THE  LEPER.  351 

Too  sweet,  for  the  least  part  in  lier, 

To  have  shed  life  out  by  fragiueiits  ;  yet, 

Could  the  close  mouth   catch   breath  and  stir, 
I  might  see  something  I  forget. 

Six  months,  and  I  sit  still  and  hold 
In  two  cold  palms  her  cold  two  feet. 

Her  hair,  half  gray  half  ruined  gold, 
Thrills  me  and  burns  me  in  kissing  it. 

Love  bites  and  stings  me  through,  to  see 
Her  keen  face  made  of  sunken  bones. 

Her  worn-off  eyelids  madden  me. 

That  were  shot  through  with  purple  once. 

She  said,"  Be  good  with  me  ;  I  grow 
So  tired  for  shame's  sake,  I  shall  die 

If  you  say  nothing  :  "  even  so. 

And  she  is  dead  now,  and  shame  put  by. 

Yea,  and  the  scorn  she  had  of  me 

In  the  old  time,  doubtless  vexed  her  then. 
I  never  should  have  kissed  her.     See 

What  fools  God's  anger  makes  of  men  ! 

She  might  have  loved  me  a  little  too. 

Had  I  been  humbler  for  her  sake. 
But  that  new  shame  could  make  love  new 

She  saw  not — yet  her  shame  did  make. 

I  took  too  much  iipon  my  love. 

Having  for  such  mean  service  done 

Her  beauty  and  all  the  ways  thereof. 
Her  face  and  all  the  sweet  thereon. 

Yea,  all  this  while  I  tended  her, 

I  know  the  old  love  held  fast  his  part  : 

I  know  the  old  scorn  waxed  heavier. 
Mixed  with  sad  wonder,  in  her  heart. 

It  may  be  all  my  love  went  wrong — 
A  scribe's  work  writ  awry  and  blurred. 

Scrawled  after  the  blind  evensong — 
Spoilt  music  with  no  perfect  word. 


352  DOLORES. 

Bufsnrely  I  Avould  faiu  have  done 

All  things  the  best  I  could.     Perchance 

Because  I  failed,  came  short  of  one, 
She  kept  at  heart  that  other  man's. 

I  am  grown  blind  with  all  these  things  : 
It  may  be  now  she  hath  in  sight 

Some  better  knowledge  ;  still  there  clings 
The  old  question.     Will  not  God  do  right  ? 


DOLOEES. 

(notre-dame  des  sept  douleurs.) 

Cold  eyelids  that  hide  like  a  jewel, 

Hard  eyes  that  grow  soft  for  an  hour  ; 
The  heavy  white  limbs,  and  the  cruel 

Red  mouth  like  a  venomous  flower  ; 
When  these  are  gone  by  witli  their  glories, 

What  shall  rest  of  thee  then,  what  remain, 
0  mystic  and  sombre  Dolores, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain  ? 

Seven  sorrows  the  priests  give  their  Virgin ; 

But  thy  sins,  which  are  seventy  times  seven. 
Seven  ages  would  fail  thee  to  purge  in. 

And  then  they  would  haunt  thee  in  heaven  : 
Fierce  midnights  and  famishing  morrows, 

And  the  loves  that  complete  and  control 
All  the  joys  of  the  flesh,  all  the  sorrows 

That  wear  out  the  soul. 

0  garment  not  golden  but  gilded  ; 

0  garden  where  all  men  may  dwell, 
0  tower  not  of  ivory,  but  builded 

By  hands  that  reach  heaven  from  hell ; 
0  mystical  rose  of  the  mire, 

0  house  not  of  gold  but  of  gain, 
0  house  of  unquenchable  fire. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain  ! 

(O  lips  full  of  lust  and  of  laughter. 

Curled  snakes  that  are  fed  from  my  breast, 


DOLORES.  353 

Bite  hard,  lest  remembrance  come  after 
And  press  with  new  lips  where  you  pressed. 

For  my  heart  too  springs  wp  at  the  pressure, 
Mine  eyelids  too  moisten  and  burn  ; 

Ah,  feed  me  and  fill  me  with  pleasure. 
Ere  pain  come  in  turu.N 

In  yesterday's  reach  and  to-morrow's, 

Out  of  sight  though  they  lie  of  to-day. 
There  have  been  and  there  yet  shall  be  sorrows. 

That  smite  not  and  bite  not  in  play. 
The  life  and  the  love  thou  despisest. 

These  hurt  us  indeed  and  in  vain, 
0  wise  among  women,  and  wisest, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Who  gave  thee  thy  wisdom  ?  what  stories 

That  stung  thee,  what  visions  that  smote  ? 
Wert  thou  pure  and  a  maiden,  Dolores, 

When  desire  took  thee  first  by  the  throat  ? 
What  bud  was  the  shell  of  a  blossom 

That  all  men  may  smell  to  and  pluck  ? 
What  milk  fed  thee  first  at  what  bosom  ? 

What  sins  gave  thee  suck  ? 

We  shift  and  bedeck  and  bedrape  us, 

Thou  art  noble  and  nude  and  antique  ; 
Libitina  thy  mother,  Priapu^ 

Thy  father,  a  Tuscan  and  Greek. 
We  play  with  light  loves  in  the  portal, 

And  wince  and  relent  and  refrain  ; 
Loves  die,  and  we  know  thee  immortal. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Fruits  fail  and  love  dies  and  time  ranges ; 

Thou  art  fed  with  perpetual  breath. 
And  alive  after  infinite  changes. 

And  fresli  from  the  kisses  of  death  ; 
Of  languors  rekindled  and  rallied. 

Of  barren  delights  and  unclean, 
Things  monstrous  and  fruitless,  a  pallid 

And  poisonous  queen, 
23 


354  DOLORES. 

Could  yon  hurt  me,  sweet  lips,  though  I  hurt  you  ? 

Men  touch  them,  and  change  in  a  trice 
The  lilies  and  languors  of  virtue 

For  the  raptures  and  roses  of  vice  ; 
Those  lie  where  thy  foot  on  the  floor  is, 

These  crown  and  caress  thee  and  chain, 
0  splendid  and  sterile  Dolores, 

Our  Lady  of  ]?ain. 

There  are  sins  it  may  be  to  discover. 

There  are  deeds  it  may  be  to  delight. 
What  new  work  wilt  thou  find  for  thy  lover. 

What  new  passions  for  daytime  or  night  ? 
What  spells  that  they  know  not  a  word  of 

Whose  lives  are  as  leaves  overblown  ? 
What  tortures  undreamt  of,  unheard  of. 

Unwritten,  unknown  ? 

Ah  beautiful  passionate  body 

That  never  has  ached  with  a  heart ! 
On  thy  mouth  though  the   kisses  are  bloody. 

Though  they  sting  till  it  shudder  and  smart, 
More  kind  than  the  love  we  adore  is, 

They  hurt  not  the  heart  or  the  brain, 
0  bitter  and  tender  Dolores, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

As  our  kisses  relax  and  redouble. 

From  the  lips  and  the  foam  and  the  fangs 
Shall  no  new  sin  be  born  for  men's  trouble, 

No  dream  of  impossible  pangs  ? 
With  the  sweet  of  the  sins  of  old  ages 

Wilt  thou  satiate  thy  soul  as  of  yore  ? 
Too  sweet  is  the  rind,  say  the  sages, 

Too  bitter  the  core. 

Hast  thou  told  all  thy  secrets  the  last  time, 

And  bared  all  thy  beauties  to  one  ? 
Ah,  where  shall  we  go  then  for  pastime. 

If  the  worst  that  can  be  has  been  done  ? 
But  sweet  as  the  rind  was  the  core  is  ; 

We  are  fain  of  thee  still,  we  are  fain, 
0  sanguine  and  subtle  Dolores, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 


DOLORES.  355 

By  tlie  hunger  of  change  and  emotion, 

"By  the  thirst  of  unbearable  things, 
By  despair,  the  twin-born  of  devotion, 

By  the  pleasure  that  winces  and  stings, 
The  delight  that  consumes  the  desire, 

The  desire  that  outruns  the  delight, 
By  the  cruelty  deaf  as  a  fire 

And  blind  as  the  night. 

By  the  ravenous  teeth  that  have  smitten 

Through  the  kisses  that  blossom  and  bud. 
By  the  lips  intertwisted  and  bitten 

Till  the  foam  has  a  savor  of  blood. 
By  the  pulse  as  it  rises  and  falters, 

By  the  hands  as  they  slacken  and  strain, 
I  adjure  thee,  respond  from  thine  altars. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Wilt  thou  smile  as  a  woman  disdaining 

The  light  fire  in  the  veins  of  a  boy  ? 
But  he  comes  to  thee  sad,  v/ithout   feigning. 

Who  has  wearied  of  sorrow  and  joy  ; 
Less  careful  of  labor  and  glory 

Than  the  elders  whose  hair  has  uncurled  ; 
And  young,  but  with  fancies  as  hoary 

And  gray  as  the  world. 

I  have  passed  from  the  outermost  portal 

To  the  shrine  where  a  sin  is  a  prayer  ; 
What  care  though  the  service  be  mortal  ? 

0  our  Lady  of  Torture,  what  care  ? 
All  thine  the  last  wine  that  I  pour  is. 

The  last  in  the  chalice  we  drain, 
0  fierce  and  luxurious  Dolores, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

All  thine  the  new  wine  of  desire, 

The  fruit  of  four  lips  as  they  clung 
Till  the  hair  and  the  eyelids  took  fire, 

The  foam  of  a  serpentine  tongue. 
The  froth  of  the  serpents  of  pleasure. 

More  salt  than  the  foam  of  the  sea, 
Now  felt  as  a  flame,  now  at  leisure 

As  wine  shed  for  me. 


356  DOLORES. 

Ah  thy  people,  thy  children,  thy  chosen. 

Marked  cross  from  the  womb  and  perverse  ! 
They  have  found  out  the  secret  to  cozen 

The  gods  that  constrain  us  and  curse  ; 
They  alone,  they  are  wise,  and  none  other ; 

Give  me  place,  even  me,  in  their  train, 
0  my  sister,  my  spouse,  and  my  mother. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

For  the  crown  of  our  life  as  it  closes 

Is  darkness,  the  fruit  thereof  dust ; 
No  thorns  go  as  deep  as  a  rose's, 

And  love  is  more  cruel  than  lust. 
Time  turns  the  old  days  to  derision. 

Our  loves  into  corpses  or  wives  ; 
And  marriage  and  death  and  division 

Make  barren  our  lives. 

And  pale  from  the  past  we  draw  nigh  thee. 

And  satiate  with  comfortless  hours  ; 
And  we  know  thee,  how  all  men  belie  thee, 

And  we  gather  the  frnit  of  thy  flowers  ; 
The  passion  that  slays  and  recovers. 

The  pangs  and  the  kisses  that  rain 
On  the  lips  and  the  limbs  of  thy  lovers. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

The  desire  of  thy  furious  embraces 

Is  more  than  the  wisdom  of  years, 
On  the  blossom  though  blood  lie  in  traces, 

Though  the  foliage  be  sodden  with  tears. 
For  the  lords  in  whose  keeping  the  door  is 

That  opens  on  all  who  draw  breath 
Gave  the  cypress  to  love,  my  Dolores, 

The  myrtle  to  death. 

And  they  laughed,  changing  hands  in  the  measure. 

And  they  mixed  and  made  peace  after  strife ; 
Pain  melted  in  tears,  and  was  pleasure  ; 

Death  tingled  with  blood,  and  was  life. 
Like  lovers  they  melted  and  tingled, 

In  the  dusk  of  thine  innermost  fane  ; 
In  the  darkness  they  murmuved  and  mingled, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 


DOLORES.  357 

In  a  twilight  where  virtues  are  vices, 

III  thy  chapels,  unknown  of  the  sun. 
To  a  tune  that  enthralls  and  entices. 

They  were  Aved,  and  the  twain  were  as  one. 
For  the  tune  from  thine  altar  hath  sounded 

Since  God  bade  the  world's  work  begin. 
And  the  fume  of  thine  incense  abounded. 

To  sweeten  the  sin. 

Love  listens,  and  paler  than  ashes, 

Through  his  curls  as  the  crown  on  them  slips. 
Lifts  languid  wet  eyelids  and  lashes. 

And  laughs  with   insatiable  lips. 
Thou  shalt  hush  him  with  heavy  caresses. 

With  music  that  scares  the  profane  ; 
Thou  shalt  darken  his  eyes  with  thy  tresses. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Thou  shalt  blind  his  bright  eyes  though  he  wrestle, 

Thou  shalt  chain  his  light  limbs  though  he  strive ; 
In  his  lips  all  thy  serpents  shall  nestle. 

In  his  hands  all  thy  cruelties  thrive. 
In  the  daytime  thy  voice  shall  go  through  him. 

In  his  dreams  he  shall  feel  thee  and  ache  ; 
Thou  shalt  kindle  by  night  and  subdue  him 

Asleep  and  awake. 

Thou  shalt  touch  and  make  redder  his  roses 

With  juice  not  of  fruit  nor  of  bud  ; 
When  the  sense  in  the  spirit  reposes. 

Thou  shalt  quicken  the  soul  through  the  blood. 
Thine,  thine  the  one  grace  we  implore  is, 

Who  would  live  and  not  languish  or  feign, 
0  sleepless  and  deadly  Dolores, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Dost  thou  dream,  in  a  respite  of  slumber. 

In  a  lull  of  the  fires  of  thy  life, 
Of  the  days  without  name,  without  number. 

When  thy  will  stung  the  world  into  strife  ; 
Wlien,  a  goddess,  the  pulse  of  thy  ]Kis,sion 

Smote  kings  as  they  revelled  in  Rome  ; 
And  they  hailed  thee  re-risen,  0  Thalassian, 

Foam-white,  from  the  foam  'i 


358  DOLORES. 

When  thy  lips  had  such  lovers  to  flatter  ; 

When  the  city  lay  red  from  thy  rods 
And  thine  hands  were  as  arrows  to  scatter 

The  children  of  change  and  their  gods  ; 
When  the  blood  of  thy  foemen  made  fervent 

A  sand  never  moist  from  the  main, 
As  one  smote  them,  their  lord  and  thy  servant. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

On  sands  by  the  storm  never  shaken, 

Nor  wet  from  the  washing  of  tides  ; 
Nor  by  foam  of  the  waves  overtaken, 

Nor  winds  that  the  thunder  bestrides  ; 
But  red  from  the  print  of  thy  paces. 

Made  smooth  for  the  world  and  its  lords, 
Einged  round  with  a  flame  of  fair  faces, 

Andsjilendid  with  swords. 

There  the  gladiator,  pale  for  thy  pleasure, 

Drew  bitter  and  perilous  breath  ; 
There  torments  laid  hold  on  the  treasure 

Of  limbs  too  delicious  for  death  ; 
When  thy  gardens  were  lit  with  live  torches ; 

When  the  world  was  a  steed  for  thy  rein  ; 
W^hen  the  nations  lay  prone  in  thy  porches. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

When,  Avith  flame  all  around  him  aspirant. 

Stood  flushed,  as  a  harp-player  stands, 
The  implacable  beautiful  tyrant, 

Kose-crowned,  having  death  in  his  hands ; 
And  a  sound  as  the  sound  of  loud  water 

Smote  far  through  the  flight  of  the  fires. 
And  mixed  with  the  lightning  of  slaughter 

A  thunder  of  lyres. 

Dost  thou  dream  of  what  was  and  no  more  is. 

The  old  kingdoms  of  earth  and  the  kings  ? 
Dost  thou  hunger  for  these  things,  Dolores, 

For  these,    in  a  world  of  new  things  ? 
But  thy  bosom  no  fasts  could  emaciate. 

No  hunger  compel  to  complain 
Those  lips  that  no  bloodshed  could  satiate, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain, 


DOLORES.  359 

As  of  old  when  the  world's  heart  was  lighter, 

Through  thy  garments  the  grace  of  thee  glows, 
The  white  wealth  of  the  body  made  Avhiter 

By  the  blushes  of  amorous  blows, 
And  seamed  with  sharp  lips  and  fierce  fingers. 

And  branded  by  kisses  that  bruise  ; 
When  all  shall  be  gone  that  now  lingers. 

Ah,  what  shall  we  lose  ? 

Thou  wert  fair  in  the  fearless  old  fashion. 

And  thy  limbs  are  as  melodies  yet. 
And  move  to  the  music  of  passion 

"With  lithe  and  lascivious  regret. 
What  ailed  us,  0  gods,  to  desert  you 

For  creeds  that  refuse  and  restrain  ? 
Come  down  and  redeem  us  from  virtue, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

All  shrines  that  were  Vestal  are  flameless  ; 

But  the  flame  has  not  fallen  from  this  ; 
Though  obscure  be  the  god,  and  though  nameless 

The  eyes  and  the  hair  that  we  kiss  ; 
Low  fires  that  love  sits  by  and  forges 

Fresh  heads  for  his  arrows  and  thine  ; 
Iluir  loosened  and  soiled  in  mid  orgies 

With  kisses  and  wine. 

Thy  skin  changes  country  and  color. 

And  shrivels  or  swells  to  a  snake's. 
Let  it  brighten  and  bloat  and  grow  duller. 

We  know  it,  the  flames  and  the  flakes. 
Red  brands  on  it  smitten  and  bitten. 

Round  skies  where  a  star  is  a  stain, 
And  the  leaves  with  thy  litanies  written. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

On  tliy  bosom  though  many  a  kiss  be. 

There  are  nonesuch  as  knew  it  of  old. 
Was  it  Alciphron  once  or  Arisbe, 

Male  ringlets  or  feminine  gold 
That  tliy  lips  met  with  under  the  statue. 

Whence  a  look  sliot  out  sharp  after  thieves 
From  the  eyes  of  tlio  garden-god  at  you 

Across  the  fig-leaves  ? 


360  DOLORES. 

Then  still,,  through  dry  seasons  and  moister. 

One  god  had  a  wreath  to  his  shrine  ; 
Then  love  was  the  pearl  of  his  oyster,* 

And  Venus  rose  red  out  of  wine. 
We  have  all  done  amiss,  choosing  rather 

Such  loves  as  the  wise  gods  disdain  ; 
Intercede  for  us  thou  with  thy  father, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

In  spring  he  had  crowns  of  his  garden 

Red  corn  in  the  heat  of  the  year, 
Then  hoary  green  olives  that  harden 

When  tiie  grape-blossom  freezes  with  fear. 
And  milk-budded  myrtles  with  Venus 

And  vine-leaves  with  Bacchus  he  trod  ; 
And  ye  said,  "  We  have  seen,  he  hath  seen  ns, 

A  visible  God." 

What  broke  off  the  garlands  that  girt  you  ? 

What  sundered  you  spirit  and  clay  ? 
Weak  sins  yet  alive  areas  virtue 

To  the  strength  of  the  sins  of  that  day. 
For  dried  is  the  blood  of  thy  lover, 

Ipsithilla,  contracted  the  vein  ; 
Cry  aloud,  ''Will  he  rise  and  recover. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain?" 

Cry  aloud  ;  for  the  old  world  is  broken  ; 

Cry  out ;  for  the  Phrygian  is  priest, 
And  rears  not  the  bountiful  token 

And  spreads  not  the  fatherly  feast. 
From  the  midmost  of  Ida,  from  shady 

Recesses  that  murmur  at  morn, 
They  have  brought  and  baptized  her.  Our  Lady. . 

A  goddess  new-born. 

And  the  chaplets  of  old  are  above  us. 
And  the  oyster-bed  teems  out  of  reach  ; 

Old  poets  outsing  and  outlove  us, 

And  Catullus  makes  mouths  at  our  speech. 

*  "  Nam  te  prsecipue  in  suis  urbibus  colit  ora 
Hellespontia,  cteteris  ostreosior  oris." 

Catull.  Carm.  xviii, 


DOLORES.  361 

Wlio  shall  kiss,  in  thy  father's  own  city. 
With  such  lips  as  he  sung  with,  again  ? 

Intercede  for  us  all  of  thy  pity, 
Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Out  of  Dindymus  heavily  laden 

Her  lions  draw  bound  and  unfed 
A  mother,  a  mortal,  a  maiden, 

A  queen  over  death  and  the  dead. 
She  is  cold,  and  her  habit  is  lowly. 

Her  temple  of  branches  and  sods  ; 
Most  fruitful  and  virginal,  holy, 

A  mother  of  gods. 

She  hath  wasted  with  fire  thine  high  places. 

She  hath  hidden  and  marred  and  made  sad 
The  fair  limbs  of  the  Loves,  the  fair  faces 

Of  gods  that  were  goodly  and  glad. 
She  slays,  and  her  hands  are  not  bloody  ; 

She  moves  as  a  moon  in  the  wane, 
White-robed,  and  thy  raiment  is  ruddy, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

They  shall  pass  and  their  places  be  taken, 

The  gods  and  the  priests  tliat  are  pure. 
They  shall  pass,  and  shalt  thou  not  be  shaken  ? 

They  shall  perish,  and  shalt  thou  endure  ? 
Death  laughs,  breathing  close  and  relentless 

in  the  nostrils  and  eyelids  of  lust, 
With  a  pinch  in  his  fingers  of  scentless 

And  delicate  dust. 

But  the  worm  shall  revive  thee  with  kisses. 

Thou  shalt  change  and  transmute  as  a  god. 
As  the  rod  to  a  serpent  that  hisses. 

As  the  serpent  again  to  a  rod. 
Thy  life  shall  not  cease  though  thou  doff  it ; 

Thou  shalt  live  until  evil  be  slain. 
And  good  shall  die  first,  said  thy  prophet. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Did  he  lie  ?  did  he  laugli  ?  docs  he  know  it, 
Now  he  lies  out  of  reach,  out  of  breath, 


362  DOLORES. 

Thy  prophet,  thy  preacher,  thy  poet, 

Sin's  child  by  incestuous  Death  ? 
Did  he  find  out  in  fire  at  his  waking, 

Or  discern  as  his  eyelids  lost  light. 
When  the  bands  of  the  body  were  breaking 

And  all  came  in  sight  ? 

Who  has  known  all  the  evil  before  us, 

Or  the  tyrannous  secrets  of  time  ? 
Though  we  match  not  the  dead  men  that  bore  us, 

At  a  song,  at  a  kiss,  at  a  crime — 
Though  the  heathen  outface  and  outlive  us, 

And  our  lives  and  our  longings  are  twain — 
Ah,  forgive  us  our  virtues,  forgive  us. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Who  are  we  that  embalm  and  embrace  thee 

With  spices  and  savors  of  song  ? 
What  is  time,  that  his  children  should  face  thee? 

What  am  I,  that  my  lips  do  thee  wrong  ? 
I  could  hurt  thee — but  pain    would   delight   thee; 

Or  caress  thee — but  love  would  repel ; 
And  the  lovers  whose  lips  would  excite  thee 

Are  serpents  in  hell. 

Who  now  shall  content  thee  as  they  did. 

Thy  lovers,  when  temples  were  built 
And  the  hair  of  the  sacrifice  braided 

And  the  blood  of  the  sacrifice  spilt. 
In  Lampsacus  fervent  with  faces. 

In  Aphaca  red  from  thy  reign. 
Who  embraced  thee  with  awful  embraces. 

Our  Lady  of  Pain  ? 

Where  are  they,  Cotytto,  or  Venus, 

Astarte  or  Ashtaroth,  where  ? 
Do  their  hands  as  we  touch  come  between  us  ? 

Is  the  breath  of  them  hot  in  thy  hair  ? 
From  their  lips  have  thy  lips  taken  fever. 

With  the  blood  of  their  bodies  grown  red  ? 
Hast  thou  left  upon  earth  a  believer 

If  these  men  are  dead  ? 


HESPERIA.  363 

They  were  purple  of  raiment  and  golden, 

Filled  full  of  thee,  fiery  with  wine, 
Thy  lovers,  in  haunts  unbeholden, 

In  marvellous  chambers  of  thine. 
They  are  fled,  and  tiieir  footprints  escape  us. 

Who  appraise  thee,  adore,  and  abstain, 
0  daughter  of  Death  and  Priapus, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

What  ails  us  to  fear  overmeasure, 

To  praise  thee  with  timorous  breath, 
0  mistress  and  mother  of  pleasure. 

The  one  thing  as  certain  as  death  ? 
We  shall  change  as  the  things  that  we  cherish. 

Shall  fade  as  they  faded,  before, 
As  foam  upon  water  shall  perish, 

As  sand  upon  shore. 

We  shall  know  what  the  darkness  discovers. 

If  the  grave-pit  be  shallow  or  deep  ; 
And  our  fathers  of  old,  and  our  lovers. 

We  shall  know  if  they  sleep  not  or  sleep. 
We  shall  see  whether  hell  be  not  heaven. 

Find  out  whether  tares  be  not  grain. 
And  the  joys  of  thee  seventy  times  seven, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain. 


HESPERIA. 

Out  of    the  golden  remote  wild  west  where  the  sea, 
without  shore  is. 
Full  of  the  sunset,  and  sad,  if  at  all,  with  the  ful- 
ness of  joy. 
As  a  wind  sets  in  with  the  autumn  that  blows  from 
the  region  of  stories. 
Blows  with  a  perfume  of  songs  and   of   memories 
beloved  from  a  boy. 
Blows  from  the  capes  of  the  i)ast  oversea  to  the  bays 
of  the  present. 
Filled  as  with  shadow  of  sound  with  the  pulse  of 
invisible  feet, 


364  HESPERIA. 

Far  out  to  the  shallows  and  straits  of  the  future,  by 
rough  ways  or  pleasant, 
Is  it  thither  the  wind's  wings  beat  ?  is  it  hither  to 
me,  0  my  sweet  ? 
For  thee,  in  the  stream  of  the  deep  tide-wind  blowing 
in  with  the  water. 
Thee  I  behold  as  a  bird  borne  in  with  the   wind 
from  the  west. 
Straight  from  the  sunset,  across  white  waves  whence 
rose  as  a  daughter 
Venus  thy  mother,  in  years  when  the  world   was 
a  water  at  rest. 
Out  of  the  distance  of  dreams,  as  a  dream  that  abides 
after  slumber, 
Strayed  from  the  fugitive  flock  of  the  night,  when 
the  moon  overhead 
Wanes  in  the  wan  waste  heights  of  the  heaven,  and 
stars  without  number 
Die  without  sound,  and  are  spent  like  lamps  that 
are  burnt  by  the  dead. 
Comes  back  to  me,  stays  by  me,  lulls  me  with  touch 
of  forgotten  caresses. 
One  warm  dream  clad  about  with  a  fire  as  of  life 
that  endures  ; 
The  delight  of  thy  face,  and  the  sound  of  thy  feet, 
and  the  wind  of  thy  tresses. 
And  all  of  a  man  that  regrets,  and  all  of  a  maid 
that  allures. 
But  thy  bosom  is  warm  for  my  face  and  profound  as 
a  manifold  flower. 
Thy  silence  as    music,  thy  voice   as   an  odor  that 
fades  in  a  flame  ; 
Not  a  dream,  not  a  dream  is  the  kiss  of  thy  mouth, 
and  the  bountiful  hour 
That  makes  me  forget  what   was  sin,  and  would 
make  me  forget  were  it  shame. 
Thine  eyes  that  are  quiet,  thine  hands  that  are  tender, 
thy  lips  that  are  loving, 
Comfort  and  cool  me  as  dew  in  the  dawn  of  a  moon 
like  a  dream  ; 
And  my  heart  yearns  baffled  and  blind,  moved  vainly 
toward  thee,  and  moving 


HESPERIA.  365 

As  the  reflnent  seaweed  moves  in  tlie  languid  ex- 
uberant stream, 
Fair  as  a  rose  is  on  earth,  as  a   rose  under   water   in 
prison, 
That   stretches  and   swings  to  the  slow  j)assionate 
pulse  of  the  sea, 
Closed  up  from  the  air  and  the   sun,  but  alive,  as  a 
ghost  rearisen, 
Pale  as  the  love  that  revives  as  a  ghost  rearisen  in 
me. 
From  the  bountiful  infinite  west,  from  the   happy 
memorial  places 
Full  of  the  stately  repose  and  the  lordly  delight  of 
the  dead. 
Where  the  fortunate  islands  are  lit  with  the  light  of 
ineffable  faces, 
And  the   sound  of   a   sea  without  wind   is  about 
them,  and  sunset  is  red. 
Come  back  to  redeem  and  release  me  from  love  that 
recalls  and  represses. 
That  cleaves  to  my  flesh  as  a  flame,  till  the  serpent  has 
eaten  his  fill  ; 
From  the  bitter  delights  of  the  dark,  and  the  feverish, 
the  furtive  caresses 
That  murder  the  youth  in  a  man  or  ever  his  heart 
have  its  will. 
Thy  lips  cannot  laugh  and  thine  eyes  cannot  weep  ; 
thou  art  pale  as  a  rose  is, 
Paler  and  sweeter  than  leaves  that  cover  the  blush  of 
the  bud  ; 
And  the  heart  of  the  flower  is  compassion,  and  pity 
the  core  it  encloses. 
Pity,  not  love,  that  is  born  of  the  breath  and  decays 
with  the  blood. 
As  the  cross  that  a  wild  nun  clasps  till  the  edge  of  it 
bruises  her  bosom. 
So  love  wounds  as  we  grasp  it,  and  blackens  and 
burns  as  a  flame  ; 
I  have  loved  overmuch  in  my  life  ;  when  the  live  bud 
bursts  with  the  blossom. 
Bitter  as   ashes  or  tears  is  the  fruit,  and  the  wine 
thereof  shame. 


366  HESPERIA. 

As  a  heart  that  its  anguish  divides  is  the  green  bud 
cloven  asunder  ; 
As  the  blood  of  a  man  self-slain  is  the  flush  of  the 
leaves  that  allure  ; 
And  the  perfume  as  poison  and   wine  to  the  brain,  a 
delight  and  a  wonder  ; 
And  the  thorns  are  too  sharp  for  a  boy,  too  slight 
for  a  man,  to  endure. 
Too  soon  did  I  love   it,    and   lost  love's    rose  ;  and   I 
cared  not  for  glory's  : 
Only  the    blossoms  of  sleep  and  of  pleasure  were 
mixed  in  my  hair. 
Was  it  myrtle  or  poppy  thy  garland  was  woven  with, 

0  my  Dolores  ? 

Was  it  pallor  of  slumber,  or  blush  as  of  blood,  that 

1  found  in  thee  fair  ? 

For  desire  is  a  respite  from  love,  and  the  flesh  not 
the  heart  is  her  fuel  ; 
She  was  sweet  to  me  once,  who  am  fled  and  escaped 
from  the  rage  of  her  reign  ; 
Who  behold   as  of  old  time  at  hand  as  I  turn,  with 
her  mouth  growing  cruel, 
And  flushed  as  with  wine  with  the  blood  of  her 
lovers,  Our  Lady  of  Pain. 
Low  down  where  the  thicket  is  thicker  with  thorns 
than  with  leaves  in  the  summer, 
In  the  brake  is  a  gleaming  of  eyes  and  a  hissing  of 
tongues  that  I  knew  ; 
And  the  lithe  long  throats  of  her  snakes  reach  round 
her,  their  mouths  overcome  her. 
And  her  lips  grow  cool  with  their  foam,  made  moist 
as  a  desert  with  dew. 
With  the  thirst  and  the  hunger  of  lust  though  her 
beautiful  lips  be  so  bitter, 
With  the  cold  foul  foam  of  the  snakes  they  soften 
and  redden  and  smile  ; 
And  her  fierce  mouth  sweetens,   her  eyes  wax  wide 
and  her  eyelashes  glitter, 
And  she  laughs   with  a  savor  of  blood  in  her  face, 
and  a  savor  of  guile. 
She  laughs,   and  her   hands  reach  hither,  her  hair 
blows  hither  and  hisses, 


HESPERIA.  307 

As  a  low-lit  flame  in  a  wind,  back-blown  till  it  shud- 
der and  leap  ; 
Let  her  lips  not  again  lay  hold  on  my  soul, nor  her 
poisonous  kisses, 
'Vo  consume  it  alive  and  divide  from    thy  bosom. 
Our  Lady  of  Sleep. 
All  daughter  of  sunset  and  slumber,  if  now  it  return 
into  prison, 
AV'ho  shall  redeem  it  anew  ?  but  we,  if  thou  wilt,  let 
us  fly  ; 
Let  us  take  to  us,  now  that  the  white  skies  thrill 
with  a  moon  unarisen, 
Swift  horses  of  fear  or  of  love,  take  flight  and  de- 
part and  not  die. 
They  are  swifter  than  dreams,  they  are  stronger  than 
death;  there  is  none  that  hath  ridden. 
None  that  shall  ride  in  the  dim  strange  ways  of  his 
life  as  we  ride  ; 
By  the  meadows  of  memory,  the  highlands  of  hope, 
and  the  shore  that  is  hidden, 
Where  life  breaks  loud  and  unseen,  a  sonorous  in- 
visible tide  , 
By  the  sands   where  sorrow  has  trodden,   the  salt 
pools  bitter  and  sterile. 
By  the  thundering  reef  and  the  low  sea-wall  and  the 
channel  of  years, 
Our  wild    steeds  press    on    the  night,   strain    hard 
through  pleasure  and  peril. 
Labor  and  listen  and  pant  not  or  pause  for  the  peril 
that  nears  ; 
And  the  sound  of  them  trampling  the  Avay  cleaves 
night  as  an  arrow  asunder, 
And  slow  by  the  sand-hill  and   swift  by  the   down 
with  its  glimi)ses  of  grass. 
Sudden  and  steady  the  music,  as  eight  hoofs  traniple 
and  thunder. 
Rings  in  the  car  of  the  low  blind  wind  of  the  night 
as  we  pass  ; 
Shrill  shrieks  in  our  faces  the  blind  bhiud  air  that 
was  mute  as  a  maiden. 
Stung  into  storm  by  the  speed  of  our  passage,  and 
deaf  where  we  past ; 


368  FELISE.  f 

And  our  spirits  too  burn  as  we  bound,  thine  only  but 
mine  heavy-laden, 
As  we  burn  with  the  fire  of  our  flight ;  ah,  love, 
shall  we  win  at  the  last  ? 


FELISE. 

Mais  oil  sonf  les  neiges  cVantan  ? 

What  shall  be  said  between  us  here 
Among  the  downs,  between  the  trees. 

In  fields  that  knew  our  feet  last  year. 
In  sight  of  quiet  sands  and  seas. 
This  year,  Felise  ? 

»Vho  knows  wliat  word  were  best  to  say  ? 

For  last  year's  leaves  lie  dead  and  red 
On  this  sweet  day,  in  this  green  May, 

And  barren  corn  makes  bitter  bread. 

What  shall  be  said  't 

Here  as  last  year  the  fields  begin, 
A  fire  of  flowers  and  glowing  grass  ; 

The  old  fields  we  laughed  and  lingered  in, 
Seeing  each  our  souls  in  last  year's  glass, 
Felise,  alas  ! 

Shall  we  not  laugh,  shall  we  not  weep, 
Not  we,  though  this  be  as  it  is  ? 

For  love  awake  or  love  asleep 
Ends  in  a  laugh,  a  dream,  a  kiss, 
A  song  like  this. 

I  that  ])ave  slept  awake,  and  you 

Sleep,  who  last  year  were  well  awake. 

Though  love  do  all  that  love  can  do. 
My  heart  will  never  ache  or  break 
For  your  heart's  sake. 

The  great  sea,  faultless  as  a  flower. 

Throbs,  trembling  under  beam  and  breeze. 

And  lauglis  with  love  of  the  amorous  hour. 
I  found  you  fairer  once,  Felise, 
Than  flowers  or  seas. 


FELISE.  369 

We  played  at  bondsman  and  at  queen  ; 

But  as  the  days  change  men  change  too  ; 
I  find  the  gray  sea's  notes  of  green, 

The  green  sea's  fervent  flakes  of  blue, 

More  fair  than  you. 

Your  beauty  is  not  over  fair 

Now  in  mine  eyes,  who  am  grown  up  wise. 
The  smell  of  flowers  in  all  your  hair 

Allures  not  now  ;  no  sigh  replies 

If  your  heart  sighs. 

But  you  sigh  seldom,  you  sleep  sound. 
You  find  love's  new  name  good  enough. 

Less  sweet  I  find  it  than  I  found 
The  sweetest  name  that  ever  love 
Grew  weary  of. 

My  snake  with  bright  bland  eyes,  my  snake 
Grown  tame  and  glad  to  be  caressed, 

With  lips  athirst  for  mine  to  slake 
Their  tender  fever  !  who  had  guessed 
You  loved  me  best  ? 

I  had  died  for  this  last  year,  to  know 

You  loved  me.     Who  shall  turn  on  fate  ? 

I  care  not  if  love  come  or  go 

Now,  though  your  love  seek  mine  for  mate. 
It  is  too  late. 

The  dust  of  many  strange  desires 
Lies  deep  between  us  ;  in  our  eyes 
Dread  smoke  of  perishable  fires 
Flickers,  a  fume  in  air  and  skies, 
A  steam  of  sighs. 

You  loved  me  and  you  loved  me  not ; 

A  little,  much,  and  overmuch. 
Will  you  forget  as  I  forget  ? 

Let  all  dead  things  lie  dead  ;  none  such 

Are  soft  to  touch. 

I  love  you  and  I  do  not  love. 

Too  niucli,  a  little,  not  at  all ; 
24 


370  FELISE. 

Too  much,  and  never  yet  enough. 
Birds  quick  to  fledge  and  fly  at  call 
Are  quick  to  fall. 

And  these  love  longer  now  than  men. 
And  larger  loves  than  ours  are  these. 

No  diver  brings  up  love  again 

Dropped  once,  my  beautiful  Felise, 
In  such  cold  seas. 

Gone  deeper  than  all  plummets  sound. 
Where  in  the  dim  green  dayless  day 

The  life  of  such  dead  things  lies  bound 
As  the  sea  feeds  on,  wreck  and  stray 
And  castaway. 

Can  I  forget  ?     Yea,  that  can  I, 
And  that  can  all  men  ;  so  will  you, 

Alive,  or  later,  when  you  die. 

Ah,  but  the  love  you  plead  was  true  ? 
Was  mine  not  too  ? 

I  loved  you  for  that  name  of  yours 
Long  ere  we  met,  and  long  enough. 

Now  that  one  thing  of  all  endures — 
.The  sweetest  name  that  ever  love 
Waxed  weary  of. 

Like  colors  in  the  sea,  like  flowers, 
Like  a  cat's  splendid  circle  eyes 

That  wax  and  wane  with  love  for  hours, 
Green  as  green  flame,  blue-gray  like  skies, 
And  soft  like  sighs — 

And  all  these  only  like  your  name. 
And  your  name  full  of  all  of  these 

I  say  it,  and  it  sounds  the  same — 
Save  that  I  say  it  now  at  ease. 
Your  name,  Felise. 

I  said  ''  She  must  be  swift  and  white. 

And  subtly  warm,  and  half  perverse, 
And  sweet  like  sharp  soft  fruit  to  bite, 


FELISE.  371 

And  like  a  snake's  love  lithe  and  fierce." 
Men  have  guessed  worse. 

What  was  the  song  I  made  of  you 

Here  where  the  grass  forgets  our  feet 
As  afternoon  forgets  the  dew  ? 
/  Ah  that  such  sweet  things  should  be  fleet, 
\  Such  fleet  things  sweet  ! 

As  afternoon  forgets  the  dew, 

As  time  in  time  forgets  all  men, 
As  our  old  place  forgets  us  two. 

Who  might  have  turned  to  one  thing  then. 

But  not  again. 

0  lips  that  mine  have  grown  into 

Like  April's  kissing  May, 
O  fervent  eyelids  letting  through 
Those  eyes  the  greenest  of  things  blue. 

The  bluest  of  things  gray. 

If  you  were  I  and  I  were  you. 

How  could  I  love  you,  say  ? 
How  could  the  roseleaf  love  the  rue, 
The  day  love  nightfall  and  her  dew. 

Though  night  may  love  the  day  ? 

You  loved  it  may  be  more  than  I  ; 

We  know  not  ;  love  is  hard  to  seize. 
And  all  things  are  not  good  to  try  ; 

And  lifelong  loves  the  worst  of  these 

For  us,  Felise. 

Ah,  take  the  season  and  have  done. 

Love  well  the  hour  and  let  it  go  : 
Two  souls  may  sleep  and  wake  up  one. 

Or  dream  they  wake  and  find  it  so. 

And  then — you  know. 

Kiss  me  once  hard  as  though  a  flame 

Lay  on  my  li})S  and  made  them  fire  ; 
The  same  li})s  now,  and  not  the  same; 

/'  What  breath  shall  fill  and  re-inspire 

[  A  dead  desire  ? 


372  FELISE. 

The  old  song  sounds  hollower  in  mine  ear 

Thau  thin  keen  sounds  of  dead  men's  speech- 

A  noise  one  hears  and  would  not  hear  ; 
Too  strong  to  die,  too  weak  to  reach 
From  wave  to  beach. 

We  stand  on  either  side  the  sea, 

Stretch  hands,  blow  kisses,  laugh  and  lean 
I  toward  you,  you  toward  me  ; 

But  what  hears  either  save  the  keen 

Gray  sea  between  ? 

A  year  divides  us,  love  from  love, 

Though  you  love  now,  though  1  loved  then. 
The  gulf  is  strait,  but  deep  enough  ; 

Who  shall  recross,  who  among  men 

Shall  cross  again  ? 

Love  was  a  jest  last  year,  you  said. 
And  what  lives  surely,  surely  dies. 

Even  so  ;  but  now  that  love  is  dead, 
Shall  love  rekindle  from  wet  eyes. 
From  subtle  sighs  ? 

For  many  loves  are  good  to  see. 
Mutable  loves,  and  loves  perverse 

But  there  is  nothing,  nor  shall  be. 
So  sweet,  so  wicked,  but  my  verse 
Can  dream  of  worse. 

For  we  that  sing  and  you  that  love 
Know  that  which  man  may,  only  we. " 

The  rest  live  under  us  ;  above. 

Live  the  great  gods  in  heaven,  and  see 
What  thing  shall  be. 

So  this  thing  is  and  must  be  so  ; 

For  man  dies,  and  love  also  dies. 
Though  yet  love's  ghost  moves  to  and  fro 

The  sea-green  mirrors  of  your  eyes, 

And  laughs,  and  lies. 

Eyes  colored  like  a  water-flower. 

And  deeper  than  the  green  sea's  glass  ; 


FELISE.  373 

Eyes  that  remember  one  sweet  hour — 
In  vain  we  swore  it  sliould  not  pass  ; 
In  vain,  alas  ! 

Ah  my  Felise,  if  love  or  sin. 

If  shame  or  fear  could  hold  it  fast, 
Should  we  not  hold  it  ?     Love  wears  thin, 

And  they  laugh  well  who  laugh  the  last. 

Is  it  not  past  ? 

The  gods,  the  gods  are  stronger  ;  time 
Falls  down  before  them,  all  men's  knees 

Bow,  all  men's  prayers  and  sorrows  climb 
Like  incense  towards  them  ;  yea,  for  these 
Are  gods,  Felise. 

Immortal  are  they,  clothed  with  powers, 

Not  to  be  comforted  at  all  ; 
Lords  over  all  the  fruitless  hours  ; 

Too  great  to  appease,  too  high  to  appal. 

Too  far  to  call. 

For  none  shall  move  the  most  high  gods, 
Who  are  most  sad,  being  cruel  ;  none 

Shall  break  or  take  away  the  rods 

Wherewith  they  scourge  us,  not  as  one 
That  smites  a  son. 

By  many  a  name  of  many  a  creed 

We  have  called  upon  them,  since  the  sands 

Fell  through  time's  hour-glass  first,  a  seed 
Of  life  ;  and  out  of  many  lands 
Have  we  stretched  hands. 

When  have  they  heard  us  ?  who  hath  known 
Their  faces,  climl)ed  unto  their  feet. 

Felt  them  and  found  them  ?     Ijaugh  or  groan. 
Doth  heaveii  remurmur  and  repeat 
Sad  sounds  or  sweet  ? 

Do  the  stars  answer  ?  in  the  7iight 

Have  ye  found  comfort  ?  or  by  day 
Have  ye  seen  gods  ?     What  hope,  what  light, 


374  FELISE. 

Falls  from  the  farthest  starriest  way 
Ou  you  that  pray  ? 

Are  the  skies  wet  because  we  weep, 

Or  fair  because  of  any  mirth  ? 
Cry  out ;  they  are  gods  ;  perchance  they  sleep  ; 

Cry  ;  thou  shalt  know  what  i^rayers  are  worth. 

Thou  dust  and  earth. 

0  earth,  thou  art  fair  ;  0  dust,  thou  art  great ; 

0  laughing  lips  and  lips  that  mourn, 
Pray,  till  ye  feel  the  exceeding  weight 

Of  God's  intolerable  scorn, 

Not  to  be  borne. 

Behold,  there  is  no  grief  like  this  ; 

The  barren  blossom  of  thy  prayer. 
Thou  shalt  find  out  how  sweet  it  is. 

0  fools  and  blind,  what  seek  ye  there, 

High  up  in  the  air  ? 

Ye  must  have  gods,  the  friends  of  men, 

Merciful  gods,  compassionate, 
And  these  shall  answer  you  again. 

Will  ye  beat  always  at  the  gate. 

Ye  fools  of  fate  ? 

Ye  fools  and  blind  ;  for  this  is  sure, 

That  all  ye  shall  not  live,  but  die. 
Lo,  what  thing  have  ye  found  endure  ? 

Or  what  thing  have  ye  found  on  high 

Past  the  blind  sky  ? 

The  ghosts  of  words  and  dusty  dreams. 
Old  memories,  faiths  infirm  and  dead. 

Ye  fools  ;  for  which  among  you  deems 
Ilis  prayer  can  alter  green  to  red 
Or  stones  to  bread  ? 

Why  should  ye  bear  with  hopes  and  fears 
Till  all  these  things  be  drawn  in  one. 

The  sound  of  iron-footed  years, 
And  all  the  oppression  that  is  done 
Under  the  suu  ? 


FELISE.  375 

Ye  might  end  surely,  surely  pass 

Out  of  the  multitude  of  things, 
Under  the  dust,  beneath  the  grass. 

Deep  in  dim  death,  where  no  thought  stings, 

No  record  clings. 

No  memory  more  of  love  or  hate, 

No  trouble,  nothing  that  aspires. 
No  sleepless  labor  thwarting  fate. 

And  thwarted  ;  where  no  travail  tires, 

Where  no  faith  fires. 

All  passes,  naught  that  has  been  is, 
Things  good  and  evil  have  one  end. 

Can  anything  l)e  otherwise 

Though  all  men  swear  all  things  would  mend 
With  God  to  friend  ? 

Can  ye  beat  off  one  wave  with  prayer, 
Can  ye  move  mountains  ?  bid  the  flower 

Take  flight  and  turn  to  a  bird  in  the  air  ? 
Can  ye  hold  fast  for  shine  or  shower 
One  wingless  hour  ? 

Ah  sweet,  and  we  too,  can  we  bring 
One  sigh  back,  bid  one  smile  revive  ? 

Can  God  restore  one  ruined  thing, 
Or  he  who  slays  our  souls  alive 
Make  dead  things  thrive  ? 

Two  gifts  perforce  he  has  given  us  yet. 

Though  sad  things  stay  and  glad  things  fly  ; 

Two  gifts  he  has  given  us,  to  forget 
All  glad  and  sad  things  that  go  by. 
And  then  to  die. 

We  know  not  wliether  death  be  good. 

But  life  at  least  it  will  not  be  : 
Men  will  stand  saddening  as  we  stood, 

Watch  the  same  fields  and  skies  as  we 

And  the  same  sea. 

Let  this  be  said  between  ua  here, 

One  love  grows  green  when  one  turns  gray ; 


376  ON  THE  VERGE. 

This  year  knows  nothing  of  last  year  ; 
To-morrow  has  no  more  to  say 
To  yesterday. 

Live  and  let  live,  as  I  will  do, 
Love  and  let  love,  and  so  will  L 

But,  sweet,  for  me  no  more  with  you  : 
Not  while  I  live,  not  though  I  die. 
Good-night,  good-by. 


0^  THE  VERGE. 

Here  begins  the  sea  that  ends  not  till  the  world's  end. 

Where  we  stand, 
Could  we  know  the  next  high  sea-mark  set  beyond 

these  waves  that  gleam, 
We  should  know  what  never  man  hath  known,  nor  eye 

of  man  hatli  scanned. 
Nought  beyond  these  coiling  clouds  that  melt  like 

fume  of  shrines  that  steam 
Breaks  or  stays  the  strength  of  waters  till  they  pass  our 

bounds  of  dream. 
Where  the  waste  Land's  End  leans  westward,  all  the 

seas  it  watches  roll 
Find  their  border  fixed  beyond  t'.;em,  end  a  world-wide 

shore's  control  : 
These  whereby  we  stand  no  shore  beyond  us  limits  : 

these  are  free. 
Gazing  hence,  we  see  the  water  that  grows  iron  round 

the  Pole, 
From  the  shore  that  hath  no  shore  beyond  it  set  in  all 

the  sea. 
Sail  on  sail  along  the  sea-line  fades  and  flashes  ;  here 

on  land 
Flash  and  fade  the  wheeling  wings  on  wings  of  mews 

that  plunge  and  scream. 
Hoar  on  hour  along  the  line  of  life  and  time's  evasive 

strand 
Shines  and  darkens,  wanes  and  waxes,  slays  and  dies  : 

and  scarce  they  seem 
More  than  motes  that  thronged  and  trembled  in  the 

brief  noon's  breath  and  beam. 


ON  THE  VERGE.  377 

Some  with  crying  and  wailing,  some  with  notes    like 

sound  of  bells  that  toll, 
Some  with  sighing  and    laughing,  some    with    words 

that  blessed  and  made  us  whole, 
Passed,  and  left  us,  and  we  know  not  what  they  were, 

nor  what  were  we. 
Would  we  know,    being    mortal  ?    Never    breath    of 

answering  whisper  stole 
From  the  shore  that  hath  no  shore  be3'ond  it  set  iu  all 

the  sea. 

Shadows,  would  we  question  darkness  ?  Ere  our  eyes 

and  brows  be  fanned 
Eound  with  airs  of  twilight,  washed  with  dews  from 

sleep's  eternal  streaiu, 
Would  we  know  sleep's  guarded  secret  ?      Ere  the  fire 

consume  the  brand. 
Would  it  know  if  yet  its  ashes  may  requicken  ?  yet  we 

deem 
Surely  man  may  know,  or  ever  night  unyoke  her  starry 

team. 
What  the  dawn  shall  be,  or  if  the  dawn  shall  be  not: 

yea,  the  scroll 
Would  we  read  of  sleep's  dark    scripture,   pledge  of 

peace  or  doom  of  dole. 
Ah,  but   here  man's  heart  leaps,  yearning  toward  the 

gloom  with  venturous  glee. 
Though  his  pilot  eye  behold  nor  bay  nor  harbor,  rock 

nor  shoal, 
From  the  shore  that  hath  no  shore  beyond  it  set   in 

all  the  sea. 


Friend,  who  knows  if  deaLh  indeed  have  life  or  life 

liave  death  for  goal  ? 
Day  nor  night  can  tell    us,  nor  may  seas  declare  nor 

skies  unroll 
What  has  been  from    everlasting,  or    if   aught  shall 

alway  be. 
Silence  answering  only  strikes  response  reverberate  on 

the  soul 
From  the  shore  that  hath  no  shore  beyond  it  set  in  all 

the  sea. 


378  THE  SUNBOWS. 


THE  SUNBOWS. 

Spray  of  song  that  springs  in  April,  light  of  love 

that  laughs  tlirough  May, 
Live  and  die  and  live  for  ever  :  nought  of  all  things 

far  less  fair 
Keeps  a  surer  life  tlian  these  that  seem  to   pass  like 

fire  away. 
In  the  souls  they  live  which  are  but  all  the  brighter 

that  they  were  ; 
In  the  hearts  that  kindle,  thinking  what  delight  of  old 

was  there. 
Wind  that  shapes    and    lifts   and  shifts   them  bids 

perpetual  memory  play 
Over  dreams  and  in  and  out  of  deeds  and  thoughts 

which  seem  to  wear 
Light  that  leaps    and    runs  and  revels  through  the 

springing  flames  of  spray. 

Dawn  is  wild   upon   the  waters  where   we  drink  of 

dawn  to-day  : 
Wide,  from    wave  to    wave    rekindling   is   rebound 

through  radiant  air. 
Flash  the  fires  unwoven  and  woven  again  of  wind 

tliat  works  in  play, 
Working  wonders  more  than  heart  may  note  or  sight 

may  wellnigh  dare, 
Wefts  of  rarer  light  than   colors  rain   from  heaven, 

though  this  be  rare. 
Arch  on  arch  unbuilt  in  building,  reared  and  ruined 

ray  by  ray, 
Breaks  and  brightens,  laughs  and  lessens,  even  till 

eyes  may  hardly  bear 
Light  that  leaps  and  runs  and  revels  through  the 

springing  flames  of  spray. 

Year  on  year  sheds  light  and  music  rolled  and  flashed 
from  bay  to  bay 

Eound  the  summer  capes  of  time  and  winter  head- 
lands keen  and  bare 


IN  THE  WATER.  3Y9 

Whence  the  soul  keeps  wa,tch,  and  bids  her  vassal 
memory  watch  and  pray, 

If  perchance  the  dawn  may  quicken,  or  perchance 
the  midnight  spare. 

Silence  quells  not  music,  darkness  takes  not  sunlight 
in  her  snare  ; 

Shall  not  joys  endure  that  perish  ?  Yea,  saith  dawn, 
though  night  say  nay  : 

Life  on  life  goes  out,  but  very  life  enkindles  every- 
where 

Light  that  leaps  and  runs  and  revels  through  the 
springing  flames  of  spray. 

Friend,  were  life  no  more  than  this  is,  well  would 

yet  the  living  fare. 
All  aflower  and  all  afire  and  all  flung  heavenward, 

who  shall  say 
Such  a  flash  of  life  were  worthless  ?     This  is  worth 

a  world  of  care — 
Light  that  leaps  and  runs   and  revels    through  the 

springing  flames  of  spray. 


IN  THE  WATER. 

The  sea  is  awake,  and  the  sound  of  the  song  of  the 

joy  of  her  waking  is  rolled 
From  afar  to  the  star  that  recedes,  from  anear  to  the 

wastes  of  the  wild  wide  shore. 
Her  call  is  a  trumpet  compelling  us  homeward  :  if 

dawn  in  her  east  be  acold, 
From  the  sea  shall  we  crave  not  her  grace  to  rekindle 

the  life  that  it  kindled  before. 
Her  breath  to  requicken,  her  bosom  to  rock  us,  her 

kisses  to  bless  as  of  yore  ? 
For  the  wind,  with  his  wings  half  open,  at  pause  in 

the  sky,  neither  fettered  nor  free, 
Leans  waveward  and  flutters  the  ripple  to  laughter  : 

and  fain  would  the  twain  of  us  be 
Where  lightly  the  waves  yearn  forward  from  under 

the  curve  of  tlie  deep  dawn's  dome, 


380  IN  THE  WATER. 

And,  full  of  the  morning  and  fired  Avitli  the  pride  of 

the  glory  thereof  and  the  glee, 
Strike  out  from  the  shore  as  the  heart  in  no  hids  and 

beseeches,  athirst  for  the  foam. 

Life  holds  not  an  hour  that  is  better  to  live  in  :  the 

past  is  a  tale  that  is  told, 
The  future  a  sun-flecked  shadow,  alive  and  asleep, 

with  a  blessing  in  store. 
As  we  give  us  again  to  the  Avaters,  the  rapture  of 

limbs  that  the  waters  enfold 
Is  less  than  the  rapture  of  spirit  whereby,    though 

the  burden  it  quits  were  sore, 
Our  souls  and  the  bodies  they  wield  at  their  will  are 

absorbed  in  the  life  they  adore — 
In  the  life  that  endures  no  burden,  and  bows  not  the 

forehead,  and  bends  not  the  knee — 
In  the  life  everlasting  of  earth  and  of  heaven,  in  the 

laws  that  atone  and  agree. 
In  the  measureless  music  of  things,  in  the  fervor  of 

forces  that  rest  or   that  roam, 
That  cross  and  return  and  reissue,  as  I  after  you  and 

as  you  after  me 
Strike  out  from  the  shore  as  the  heart  in  us  bids  and 

beseeches,  athii'st  for  the  foam. 

For,  albeit  he  were  less  than  the  least  of  them,  haply 

the  heart  of  a  man  may  be  bold  ' 

To  rejoice  in  the  word  of  the  sea  as  a  mother's  that 

saitli  to  the  son  she  bore. 
Child,  was  not  the  life  in  thee  mine,  and  my  spirit 

the  breath  in  thy  lips  from  of  old  ? 
Have  I  let  not  thy  weakness  exult  in  my  strength, 

and  thy  foolishness  learn  of  my  love  ? 
Have  I  helped  not  or  healed  not  thine  anguish,    or 

made  not  the  might  of  thy  gladness  more  ? 
And  surely  his  heart  should  answer,  The  light  of  the 

love  of  my  life  is  in  thee. 
She  is  fairer  than  earth,  and  the  sun  is     not  fairer, 

the  wind  is  not  blither  than  she  : 
From  my  youth  hath  she  shown  me  the  joy  of  her 

bays  that  I  crossed,  of  her  cliffs  that  I  clomb, 


THE  CAVES  OF  SARK.  381 

Till  now  that  the  twain  of  us  here,  in  desire   of    the 

dawn  and  in  thrust  of  the  sea. 
Strike  out  from  the  shore  as  the  heart  in  us   bids 

and  beseeches,  athirst  for  the  foam. 

Friend,  earth  is    a  harbor  of  refuge  for  winter,   a 

covert  whereunder  to  flee 
When  day  is  the  vassal  of  night,   and  the  strength  of 

the  host  of  her  mightier  than  he  ; 
But  here  is  the  presence  adored  of  me,  here  my  desire 

is  at  rest  and  at  home. 
There  are  cliffs  to  be  climbed  upon  land,   there  are 

ways  to  be  trodden  and  ridden  :  but  we 
Strike  out  from  the  shore  as  the  heart  in  us  bids  and 

beseeches,  athirst  for  the  foam. 


THE  CAVES  OF  SARK. 

(TTie  island  uxis  visited  by   Victor  Hugo  during   the  first  years  of  his 
exile.) 

Fro^[  the  roots  of  the   rocks  underlying   the  gulfs 

that  engird  it  around 
Was  the  isle  not  enkindled  with  light  of  him  landing, 

or  thrilled  not  with  sound  ? 
Yea,  surely  the  sea  like  a  harper  laid  hand  on    the 

shore  as  a  lyre, 
As  the  lyre  in  his  own  for  a  birthright  of   old  that 

was  given  of  his  sire. 
And  the  hand  of  the  child  was  put   forth    on    the 

chords  yet  alive  and  aflame 
From  the  hand  of  the  God    that   had  wrought    in 

heaven  ;  and  the  hand  was  the  same. 
And  the  tongue  of  the  child  spake,    singing  ;    and 

never  a  note  that  he  sang. 
But  the  strings  made  answer  unstricken,  as    though 

for  the  God  they  rang. 
And  the  eyes  of  the    child  shone,    lightening;  and 

touched  as  by  life  at  his  nod. 
They  shuddered  with  music,  and  quickened  as  though 

from  the  glance  of  the  God. 
So  trembled  the  heart  of  the  hills  and  the  rocks  to 

receive  him,  and  yearned 


382  THE  CAVES  OF  SARK. 

With  desirous  delight  of  his  presence  and  love  that 

beholding  liirn  burned. 
Yea,  down  througli  tlie  mighty  twin    hollows  where 

never  the  sunlight  shall  be, 
Deep  sunk  under  imminent  earth,  and  subdued    to 

the  stress  of  the  sea, 
That  feel  when  the  dim  week  changes  by   change  of 

their  tides  in  the  dark, 
As  the  wave  sinks    under    within    them,  reluctant, 

removed  from  its  mark. 
Even  therein  the  terror  of  twilight  in    bloom  with 

its  blossoms  ablush, 
Did  a  sense  of  him  touch  not   the  gleam    of  their 

flowers  with  a  fierier  flush  ? 
Though  the  suii  they  behold  not  for  ever,  yet   knew 

they  not  over  them  One 
Whose  soul  was  the  soul  of  the  morning,  whose  song 

was  the  song  of  the  sun  ? 
But  the  secrets  inviolate  of  sunlight  in  hollows  un- 
trodden of  day, 
Shall  he  dream  what  are  these  who  beholds  not  ?  or 

he  that  hath  seen,  shall  he  say  ? 
For  the  path  is  for  passage  of  sea-mews  ;  and  he  that 

hath  glided  and  leapt 
Over  sea-grass  and  sea-rock,    alighting  as  one  from  a 

citadel  crept 
That  his  foemen  beleaguer,  descending  by  darkness 

and  stealth,  at  the  last 
Peers  under,  and  all  is  as  hollow  to  hell  ward,  agape 

and  aghast. 
But  afloat  and  afar  in  the  darkness  a  tremulous  color 

subsides 
From  the  crimson  high  crest  of    the  purple-peaked 

roof  to  the  soft-colored  sides 
That  brighten  as  ever  they  widen  till  downward    the 

level  is  won 
Of  the  soundless  and  colorless  water  that  knows  not 

the  sense  of  the  sun  : 
From  the  crown  of  the  culminant  arch  to  the  floor 

of  the  lakelet  abloom. 
One  infinite  blossom  of  blossoms  innumerable  aflush 

through  the  gloom. 


THE  CAVES  OF  SARK.  383 

All  under  the  deeps  of  the  darkness  are  glinuiieriiig  ; 

all  over  impends 
An  immeasurable  infinite  flower  of  the    dark    that 

dilates  and  descends, 
That  exults  and  expands  in  its  breathless  and  blind 

efflorescence  of  heart 
As  it    broadens    and    bows    to    the    waveward,    and 

breathes  not,  and  hearkens  apart. 
As  a  beaker  inverse  at  a  feast  on  Olympus,  exhausted 

of  wine. 
But  inlaid  as  with  rose  from  the  lips  of  Dione  that 

left  it  divine  ; 
From  the  lips  everliving  of  laughter  and   love  ever- 
lasting, that  leave 
In  the  cleft  of  his  heart  who  shall  kiss  them  a  snake 

to  corrode  it  and  cleave. 
So  glimmers  the  gloom  into  glory,  the  glory  recoils 

into  gloom. 
That  the  eye  of  the  sun   could   not  kindle,   the  lip 

not  of  Love  could  relume. 
So  darkens   reverted  the  cup   that  the  kiss    of  her 

mouth  set  on  fire. 
So  blackens  a  brand  in  his  eyeshot  asmoulder  awhile 

from  the  pyre. 
For  the  beam  from  beneath  and  without  it  refrangent 

again  from  the  wave 
Strikes  up  through  the  portal  a  ghostly  reverse  on 

the  dome  of  the  cave. 
On  tlie  depth  of  the  dome  ever  darkling  and  dim   to 

the  crown  of  its  arc  : 
That  the  sun-colored  tapestry,  sunless  forever,  may 

soften  the  dark. 
But  within   through  the  side-seen   archway  aglim- 

mer  again  from  the  right 
Is  the  seal  of   the  sea's  tide  set  on  the  mouth  of  the 

mystery  of  night. 
And  the  seal  on  the  seventh  day  breaks   but  a  little, 

that  man  by  its  mean 
May  beliold  what  the  sun   hath  not   looked    on,    the 

stars  of  the  night  hath  not  seen. 


384  IN  GUERNSEY. 

IN  GUERNSEY. 

TO    THEODOEE    WATTS. 


The  heavenly  bay,  ringed  round  with  cliffs  and  moors, 
Storm-stained  ravines,  and  crags  that  lawns  inlay. 
Soothes  as  with  love  the  rocks  whose  guard    secures 
The  heavenly  bay. 

0  friend,  shall  time  take  ever  this  away. 
This  blessing  given  of  beauty  that  endures. 
This  glory  shown  us,  not  to  pass  but  stay  ? 

Though  sight  be  changed  for  memory,  love   ensures 
What  memory,  clianged  by  love  to  sight,  would  say — 
The  word  that  seals  forever  mine  and  yours 
The  heavenly  bay. 

II. 

My  mother  sea,  my  fostress,  what  new  strand, 
"What  new  delight  of  waters,  may  this  be. 
The  fairest  found  since  time's   first  breezes  fanned 
My  mother  sea  ? 

Once  more  I  give  me  body  and  sonl  to  thee. 
Who  hast  my  soul  forever  :  cliff  and  sand 
Recede,  and  heart  to  heart  once  more  are  we. 

My    heart  springs  first  and  plunges,   ere  my    hand 
Strike  out  from  shore  :     more  close  it  brings   to  me. 
More  near  and  dear  than  seems  my  fatiierland. 
My  mother  sea. 

III. 

Across  and  along,  as   the   bay's   breadth  opens,  and 

o'er  us 
AVild  autumn  exults  in  the  wind,  swift  rapture  and 

strong 


IN  GUERNSEY.  385 

Impels  ns  and  broader  the  wide  waves   brighten   be- 
fore us 
Across  and  along. 

The  whole  world's  heart  is  uplifted,    and  knows  not 

wrong  ; 
The  Tfhole   world's  life  is  a  chant  to  the  sea-tide's 

chorus ; 
Are  we  not  as  waves  of  the  water,   as  notes  of  the 

song  ? 

Like  children  unworn  of  the  passions  and  toils  that 

wore  us, 
We  breast  for  a  season  the  breadth  of  the  seas  that 

throng, 
Kejoicing  as  they,  to  be  borne  as  of  old  they  bore  us 
Across  and  along. 

IV. 

On  Dante's  track  by  some  funereal  spell 

Drawn  down  through  desperate  ways  that  lead  not 

back 
We  seem  to  move,  bound  forth  past  flood  and  fell 
On  Dante's  track. 

The  gray  path  ends  :  the  gaunt  rocks  gape  :  the  black 
Deep  hollow  tortuous  night,  a  soundless  shell, 
Glares  darkness  :  are  the  fires  of  old  grown  slack  ? 

Nay,  then,  what  flames  are  these  that  leap  and  swell 
As  'twere  to  show,  where  earth's  foundations  crack. 
The  secrets  of  the  sepulchres  of  hell 
On  Dante's  track  ? 


By  mere  men's  hands  tlie  flame  was  lit,  wo  know. 
From  heaps  of  dry  waste  whin  and  casual  brands  : 
Yet,  knowing,  we  scarce  believe  it  kindled  so 
By  mere  men's  hands. 

Above,  around,  high-vaulted  hell  expands, 
Steep,  dense,  a  labyrinth  walled  ;ind  roofed  with  woe, 
Whose  mysteries  even  itself  not  understands. 
25 


386  IN  GUERNSEY. 

Tlie  scorn  in  Farinata's  eyes  aglow 
Seems  visible  in  this  flame  :  there  Geryon  stands  : 
No  stage  of  earth's  is  here,  set  forth  to  show 
By  mere  men's  hands. 

VI, 

Night,  in  utmost  noon  forlorn  and  strong,  with  heart 

athirst  and  fasting, 
Hungers  here,  barred  up  forever,  whence  as  one  whom 

dreams  affright 
Day  recoils  before  the  low-browed  lintel  threatening 

doom  and  casting 
Night. 

All  the  reefs  and  islands,  all  the  lawns  and  highlands, 

clothed  with  light, 
Laugh  for  love's  sake  in  their  sleep  outside  :  but  here 

the  night  speaks,  blasting 
Day  with  silent  speech  and  scorn  of  all  things  known 

from  depth  to  height. 

Lower  than  dive  the  thoughts  of  spirit-stricken  fear  in 

souls  forecasting 
Hell,  the  deep  void  seems  to  yawn  beyond  fear's  reach, 

and  higher  than  sight 
Kise  the  walls  and  roofs  that  compass  it  about  with 

everlasting 
Night. 

VII. 

The  house  accurst,  with  cursing  sealed  and  signed, 
Heeds  not  what  storms  about  it  burn  and  burst : 
No  fear  more  fearful  than  its  own  may  find 
The  house  accurst. 

Barren  as  crime,  anhungered  and  athirst, 

Bkmk  miles  of  moor  sweep  inland,   sere  and  blind, 

Where  summer's  best  rebukes  not  winter's  worst. 

The  low  bleak  tower  with  nought  save  waste  behind 
Stares  down  the  abyss  whereon  chance  reared  and 

nurst. 
This  type  and  likeness  of  the  accurst  man's  mind, 
The  house  accurst. 


A  DIALOGUE.  387 

VIII. 

Beloved  and  blest,  lit  warm  with  love  and  fame, 
The  house  that  had  the  light  of  the  earth  for  guest 
Hears  for  his  name's  sake  all  men  hail  its  name 
Beloved  and  blest. 

This  eyrie  was  the  homeless  eagle's  nest 

When  storm  laid  waste  his  eyrie  :   hence  he  came 

Again,  when  storm  smote  sore  his  mother's  breast. 

Bow  down  men  bade  us,  or  be  clothed  with  blame 
And  mocked  for  madness  :  worst,   they  sware,   was 

best : 
But  grief  shone  here,  while  joy  was  one  with  shame, 
Beloved  and  blest. 

A  DIALOGUE. 

I. 

Death,  if  thou  wilt,  fain  would  I  plead  with  thee  : 
Canst  thou  not  spare,  of  all  our  hopes  have  built, 
One  shelter  where  our  spirits  fain  would  be. 
Death,  if  thou  wilt  ? 

No  dome  with  suns  and  dews  impearled  and  gilt. 
Imperial  :  but  some  roof  of  wild  wood  tree, 
Too  mean  for  sceptre's  heft  or  swordblade's  hilt. 

Some  low  sweet  roof  where  love  might  live,  set  free 
From  change  and  fear  and  dreams  of  grief  or  guilt  ; 
Canst  thou  not  leave  life  even  thus  much  to  see. 
Death,  if  thou  wilt  ? 

II. 

Man,  what  art  thou  to  speak  and  jilead  with  me  ? 
What  knowest  thou  of  my  workings,  wliere  and  how 
What  tilings  I  fashion  ?  Nay,  behold  and  sec, 
Man,  what  art  thou  ? 

Thy  fruits  of  life,  and  l)lossoins  of  tliy  bough, 
Wliat  are  tliey  but  my  seedlings  ?     Eartli  and  sea 
Bear  nought  but  when  I  breathe  on  it  must    bow. 


388  HERTHA 

Bow  thou  too  down  before  me  :  though  thou  be 
Great,  all  the  jiride  shall  fade  from  off  thy  brow. 
When  Time  and  strong  Oblivion  ask  of  thee, 
Man,  what  art  thou  ? 

III. 

Death,  if  thou  be  or  be  not,  as  was  said. 
Immortal  ;  if  thou  make  us  nought,  or  we 
Survive  ;  thy  power  is  made  but  of  our  dread. 
Death,  if  thou  be. 

Thy  might  is  made  out  of  our  fear  of  thee  : 

Who  fears  thee  not,  hath  plucked  from  off  thine  head 

The  crown  of  cloud  that  darkens  earth  and  sea. 

Earth,  sea,  and  sky,  as  rain  or  vapor  shed. 
Shall  vanish  ;  all  the  shows  of  them  shall  flee  ; 
Then  shall  we  know  full  surely,  quick  or  dead, 
Death,  if  thou  be. 


HEETHA. 

I  AM  that  which  began  ; 

Out  of  me  the  years  roll  ; 
Out  of  me  God  and  man  ; 
I  am  equal  and  whole  ; 
God  changes,  and  man,  and  the  form  of  them  bodily  ; 
I  am  the  soul. 

Before  ever  land  was. 
Before  ever  the  sea. 
Or  soft  hair  of  the  grass, 
Or  fair  limbs  of  the  tree. 
Or    the    flesh-colored  fruit  of  my    branches,  1  was, 
and  thy  soul  was  in  me. 

First  life  on  my  sources 

First  drifted  and  swam  ; 
Out  of  me  are  the  forces 
That  save  it  or  damn  ; 
Out  of  me  man  and  woman,  and  wdld-beast  and  bird  : 
before  God  was,  I  am. 


HERTHA.  389 

Beside  or  above  me 

Nought  is  there  to  go  ; 
Love  or  unlove  me,. 
Unknovv  me  or  know, 
I  am  that  which  unloves  me  and  loves  ;  I  am  stricken, 
and  1  am  the  blow. 


I  the  mark  that  is  missed 

And  the  arrows  that  miss, 
I  the  mouth  that  is  kissed 
And  the  breath  in  the  kiss, 
The  search,  and  the  sought,  and  the  seeker,  the  soul 
and  the  body  that  is. 

I  am  that  thing  which  blesses 

My  spirit  elate  ; 
That  which  caresses 
With  hands  uncreate 
My  limbs  unbegotten  that  measure  the  length  of  the 
measure  of  fate. 

But  what  thing  dost  thou  now. 

Looking  Godward,  to  cry 
"  I  am  I,  thou  art  thou, 
I  am  low,  thou  art  high  "  ? 
I  am  thou,  whom  thou  seekest  to  find    him   ;  find 
thou  but  thyself,  thou  art  I. 

I  the  grain  and  the  furrow. 

The  plough-cloven  clod 
And  the  ploughshare  drawn  thorough, 
The  germ  and  the  sod, 
The  deed  and  the  doer,  the  seed  and  the  sower,  the 
dust  which  is  God. 

Hast  thou  known  how  T  fashioned  thee. 

Child,  underground  ? 
Fire  that  impassioned  thee,    . 
Iron  that  bound. 
Dim  changes  of  water,  what  thing  of  all   tlicso  hast 
thou  known  of  or  found  ? 


390  HERTHA. 

Caust  thou  say  in  thine  heart 

Thou  hast  seen  with  thine  eyes 
With  what  cunning  of  art 

Thou  wast  wrought  in  what  wise. 
By  what  force  of  what  stuff  tliou  wast  shapen,  and 
shown  on  my  breast  to  tlie  skies  ? 

Who  hath  given,  who  hath  sold  it  thee. 

Knowledge  of  me  ? 
Has  the  wilderness  told  it  thee  ? 
Hast  thou  learnt  of  the  sea  ? 
Hast  thou  communed   in  spirit    with    night  ?  have 
the  winds  taken  counsel  with  thee  ? 

Have  I  set  such  a  star 

To  show  light  on  thy  brow 
That  thou  sawest  from  afar 
AVhat  I  show  to  thee  now? 
Have  ye  spoken  as  brethren  together,  the  sun  and  the 
mountains  and  thou? 

What  is  here,  dost  thou  know  it  ? 

What  was,  hast  thou  known  ? 
Prophet  nor  poet 

Nor  tripod  nor  throne 
Nor  spirit  nor  flesh  can  make  answer,  but   only  thy 
mother  alone. 

Mother,  not  maker. 

Born,  and  not  made  ; 
Though  her  children  forsake  her, 
Allured  or  afraid, 
Praying  prayers  to  the  God  of  their  fashion,  she  stirs 
not  for  all  that  have  prayed. 

A  creed  is  a  rod, 

And  a  crown  is  of  night ; 
But  this  thing  is  God, 

To  be  man  with  thy  might, 
To  grow  straight  in  the   strength   of    thy  spirit,  and 
live  out  thy  life  as  the  light, 


HERTHA.  391 

I  am  in  thee  to  save  thee, 

As  my  soul  in  thee  saith  ; 
Give  thou  as  I  gave  thee. 
Thy  life-blood  and  breath, 
Green   leaves    of    thy    labor,    white    flowers    of   thy 
thought,  and  red  fruit  of  thy  death. 

Be  the  ways  of  thy  giving 

As  mine  were  to  thee  ; 
The  free  life  of  thy  living, 
Be  the  gift  of  it  free  ; 
Not  as  servant  to   lord,  nor  as  master  to  slave,  shalt 
thou  give  thee  to  me. 

0  children  of  banishment. 
Souls  overcast, 

"Were  the  lights  ye  see  vanish  meanu 
Alway  to  last, 
Ye  would  know  not  the  sun  overshining  the  shadows 
and  stars  overpast. 

1  that  saw  where  ye  trod 
The  dim  paths  of  the  night 

Set  the  shadow  called  God 
In  your  skies  to  give  light ; 
But  the  morning  of  manhood  is  risen,  and  the  shadow- 
less soul  is  in  sight. 

The  tree  many-rooted 

That  swells  to  the  sky 
With  frondage  red-fruited. 
The  life-tree  am  I  ; 
In  the  buds  of  your  lives  is  the  sap  of  my  leaves  :   yo 
shall  live  and  not  die. 

But  the  Gods  of  your  fashion 

That  take  and  that  give. 
In  their  pity  and  passion 
Tliat  scourge  and  forgive, 
They  are  worms  tliat  nre  bred  in  the   bark  that  falls 
off  ;  they  sliall  die  and  not  live. 


392  HERTHA. 

My  own  blood  is  what  stanches 

The  wounds  in  my   bark  ; 
Stars  caught  in  my  branches 
Make  day  of  the  dark. 
And  are  worshipped  as    suns    till   the   sunrise  shall 
tread  out  their  fires  as  a  spark. 

Where  dead  ages  hide  under 
The  live  roots  of  the  tree. 
In  my  darkness  the  thunder 
Makes  utterance  of  me  ; 
In  the  clash  of   my  boughs  with    each  other  ye  hear 
the  waves  sound  of  the  sea. 

That  noise  is  of  Time, 

As  his  feathers  are  spread 
And  his  feet  set  to  climb 

Through  the  boughs  overhead, 
And  my  foliage  rings   round  him  and   rustles,  and 
branches  are  bent  with  his  tread. 

\  The  storm-winds  of  ages 

I  Blow  through  me  and  cease. 

The  war-wind  that  rages. 
The  spring-wind  of  peace. 
Ere  the  breath  of  them  roughen    my  tresses,  ere  one 
of  my  blossoms  increase. 

All  sounds  of  all  changes. 
All  shadows  and  lights 
On  the  world's  mountain-ranges 
And  stream-riven  heights, 
"Whose  tongue  is  the  wind's  tongue  and  language  of 
storm-clouds  on  earth-shaking  nights  ; 

All  forms  of  all  faces. 

All  works  of  all  hands 
In  unsearchable  places 
Of  time-stricken  lands. 
All  death  and  all    life,  and  all   reigns  and  all  ruins, 
drop  through  me  as  sands. 


HERTHA.  393 

Though  sore  be  my  burden 
And  more  than  ye  know, 
And  my  growth  have  no  guerdon 
But  only  to  grow. 
Yet  I  fail  not  of  growing  for  lightnings  above  me  or 
deathworms  below. 


These  too  have  their  part  in  me, 

As  I  too  in  these  ; 
Such  fire  is  at  heart  in  me. 
Such  sap  is  this  tree's, 
Which  hath  in  it  all  sounds  and  all  secrets  of  infinite 
lands  and  of  seas. 

In  the  spring-colored  hours 

When  my  mind  was  as  May's 
There  brake  forth  of  me  flowers 
By  centuries  of  days. 
Strong  blossoms  with  perfume  of  manhood,  shot  oat 
from  my  spirit  as  rays. 

And  the  sound  of  them  springing 

And  smell  of  their  shoots 
Were  as  warmth  and  sweet  singing 
And  strength  to  my  roots  ; 
And    the  lives  of  my   children   made  perfect  with 
freedom  of  soul  were  my  fruits. 

I  bid  you  but  be  ; 

I  have  need  not  of  prayer  ; 
I  have  need  of  you  free 

As  your  mouths  of  mine  air  ; 
That  my  heart  may  be  greater  within  me,  beholding 
the  fruits  of  me  fair. 

More  fair  than  strange  fruit  is 

Of  faiths  ye  espouse  ; 
In  me  only  the  root  is 

That  blooms  in  your  boughs  ; 
Behold  now  your  God  that  ye  made  you,  to  feed  him 
with  faith  of  your  vows. 


394  HERTHA. 

In  the  darkening  and  whitening 

Abysses  adored. 
With  dayspring  and  lightning 
For  lamp  and  for  sword, 
God  thunders  in  heaven,  and  his  angels  are  red  with 
the  wrath  of  the  Lord. 

0  my  sons,  0  too  dutiful 

Toward  Gods  not  of  me, 
Was  not  I  enough  beautiful  ? 
Was  it  hard  to  be  free  ? 
For  behold,  I  am  with  you,  am  in  you  and  of  you  ; 
look  forth  now  and  see. 

Lo,  winged  with  world's  wonders. 

With  miracles  shod. 
With  the  fires  of  his  thunders 
For  raiment  and  rod, 
God  trembles  in   heaven,   and  his  angels  are  white 
with  the  terror  of  God. 


For  his  twilight  is  come  on  him. 

His  anguish  is  here  ; 
And  his  spirits  gaze  dumb  on  him, 
Grown  gray  from  his  fear  ; 
And  his  hour  taketh  hold  on  him  stricken,  the  last 
of  his  infinite  year. 

Thought  made  him  and  breaks  him. 

Truth  slays  and  forgives  ; 
But  to  you,  as  time  takes  him. 
This  new  thing  it  gives. 
Even  love,   the  beloved  Republic,  that  feeds  upon 
freedom  and  lives. 

For  truth  only  is  living, 

Truth  only  is  whole, 
And  the  love  of  his  giving 
Man's  polestar  and  pole  ; 
Man,  pulse  of  my  centre,  and  fruit  of  my  body,  and 
seed  of  my  soul. 


A  YEAR'S  BURDEN.  395 

One  birth  of  my  bosom  ; 

One  beam  of  mine  eye  ; 
One  topmost  blossom 
That  scales  the  sky  ; 
Man,  equal  and  one  with  me,  man  that  is  made  of 
me,  man  that  is  I. 


IN  SAN  LORENZO. 

Is  thine  hour  come  to  wake,  0  slumbering  Night  ? 

Hath  not  the  Dawn  a  message  in  thine  ear  ? 

Though  thou  be  stone  and  sleep,   yet  shalt  thou 
hear 
When   the   word  falls   from   heaven — Let  there   be 

light. 
Thou  knowest  we  would  not  do  thee  the  despite 

To  wake  thee  while  the  old  sorrow  and  shame  were 
near ; 

We  spake  not  loud  for  thy  sake,  and  for  fear 
Lest  thou  shouldst  lose  the  rest  that  was  thy  right. 
The  blessing  given  thee  that  was  thine  alone. 
The  happiness  to  sleep  and  to  be  stone  : 

Nay,  we  kept  silence  of  thee  for  thy  sake 
Albeit  we  knew  thee  alive,  and  left  with  thee 
The  great  good  gift  to  feel  not  nor  to  see  ; 

But  will  not  yet  thine  Angel  bid  thee  wake  ? 


AYEAE'S  BUEDEN. 

1870. 

ai\tvov  (tIKlvov  etTre,  to  6'  eu  ViKarta. 

Fire  and  wild  light  of  hope  and  doubt  and  fear. 
Wind  of  swift  change,  and  clouds  and  hours  that 

veer 
As  the  storm  sliifts  of  tlie  tempestuous  year  ; 
Cry  wellaway,  but  well  befall  the  right. 

Hope  sits  yet  hiding  her  war-wearied  eyes, 
Doubt  sets  her  forehead  earthward  and  denies. 
But  fear  brouglit  hand  to  hand  with  danger  dies, 
Dies  and  is  burnt  up  iu  the  tire  of  figlit. 


396  A  YEAR'S  BURDEN. 

Hearts  bruised   with   loss  and  eaten  through  with 

shame 
Turn  at  the  time's  touch  to  devouring  flame  ; 
Grief  stands  as  one  that  knows  not  her  own  name. 
Nor  if  the  star  she  sees  bring  day  or  night. 

No  song  breaks  with  it  on  the  violent  air. 
But  shrieks  of  shame,  defeat,  and  brute  despair  ; 
Yet  something  at  the  star's  heart  far  up  there 
Burns  as  a  beacon  in  our  shipwrecked  sight. 

0  strange  fierce  light  of  presage,  unknown  star. 
Whose  tongue  shall  tell  us  what  thy  secrets  are 
What  message  trembles  in  thee  from  so  far  ? 
Cry  wellaway,  but  well  befall  the  right. 

From  shores  laid  waste  across  an  iron  sea 
Where  the  waifs  drift  of  hopes  that  were  to  be. 
Across  the  red  rolled  foam  we  look  for  thee. 
Across  the  fire  we  look  up  for  the  light. 

From  days  laid  waste  across  disastrous  years. 
From  hopes  cut  down  across  a  world  of  fears, 
We  gaze  with  eyes  too  passionate  for  tears. 

Where  faith  abides  though  hope  be  put  to  flight. 

Old  hope  is  dead,  the  gray-haired  hope  grown  blind 
That  talked  with  us  of  old  things  out  of  mind. 
Dreams,  deeds  and  men  the  world  has  left  behind  ; 
Yet,  though  hope  die,  faith  lives  in  hope's  despite. 

Ay,  with  hearts  fixed  on  death  and  hopeless  hands 
We  stand  about  our  banner  while  it  stands 
Above  but  one  field  of  the  ruined  lands  ; 
Cry  wellaway,  but  well  befall  the  right. 

Though  France  were  given  for  prey    to    bird   and 

beast. 
Though  Rome  were  rent  in  twain  of  king  and  priest. 
The  soul  of  man,  the  soul  is  safe  at  least 
That  gives  death  life  and  dead  men  hands  to  smite. 


A  YEAR'S  BURDEN.  897 

Are  3^e  so  strong,  0  kings,  0  strong  men  ?     Nay, 
Waste  all  ye  will  and  gather  all  ye  may, 
Yet  one  thing  is  there  that  ye  shall  not  slay, 
Even  thought,  that  fire  nor  iron  can  affright. 

The  woundless  and  invisible  thought  that  goes 
Free  throughout  time  as  north  or  south  wind  blows. 
Far  throughout  space  as  east  or  west  sea  flows. 
And  all  dark  things  before  it  are  made  bright. 

Thy  thought,  thy  word,  0  soul  republican, 
0  spirit  of  life,  0  God  whose  name  is  man  : 
What  sea  of  sorrows  but  thy  sight  shall  span  ? 
Cry  wellaway,  but  well  befall  the  right. 

With  all  its  coils  crushed,  all  its  rings  uncurled. 
The  one  most  poisonous  worm  that  soiled  the  world 
It  wrenched  from  off  the  throat  of  man,  and   hurled 
Into  deep  hell  from  empire's  helpless  height. 

Time  takes  no  more  infection  of  it  now  ; 
Like  a  dead  snake  divided  of  the  plough. 
The  rotten  thing  lies  cut  in  twain  ;  but  thou. 
Thy  fires  shall  heal  us  of  the  serpent's  bite. 

Ay,  Avith  red  cautery  and  a  burning  brand 
Purge  thou  the  leprous  leaven  of  the  land  ; 
Take  to  thee  fire,  and  iron  in  thine  hand. 

Till  blood  and  tears  have  washed  the  soiled  limbs 
white. 

We  have  sinned  against  thee  in  dreams  and  wicked 

sleep  ; 
Smite,  we  will  slirink  not ;  strike,  we  will  not  weep  ; 
Let  the  heart  feel  tliee  ;  let  thy  wound  go  deep  ; 
Cry  wellaway,  but  well  befall  the  right. 

Wound  us  with  love,  pierce  us  with  longing,  make 
Our  souls  thy  sacrifices  ;  turn  and  take 
Our  hearts  for  our  sin-offerings  lest  they  break, 
And  mould  them  with  thine  hands  and  give  them 
might. 


398  TO  AURELIO  SAFFI. 

Tlien,  when  the  cup  of  ills  is  drained  indeed, 
AVill  we  come  to  thee   witli  our  wounds    that  bleed. 
With  faniislied  mouths  and    hearts   that   thou  shalt 
feed, 
And  see  thee  worshipped  as  the  world's  delight. 

There  shall  be  no  more  wars  nor  kingdoms  won. 
But  in  thy  sight  whose  eyes  are  as  the  sun 
All  names  shall  be  one  name,  all  nations  one. 
All  souls  of  men  in  man's  one  soul  unite. 

0  sea  whereon  men  labor,  0  great  sea 

Tliat  heaven  seems  one  with,  shall  these  things  not 

be? 
0  earth,  our  earth,  shall  time  not  make  us  free  ? 
Cry  wellaway,  but  well  befall  the  right. 


TO  AURELIO  SAFFI. 


Year  after  year  has  fallen  on  sleep,  till  change 
Hath  seen  the  fourth  part  of  a  century  fade. 

Since  you,  a  guest  to  whom  the  vales  were  strange 
Where  Isis  whispers  to  the  murmuring  shade 
Above  her  face  by  winds  and' willows  made. 

And  I,  elate  at  heart  with  reverence,  met. 

Change  must  give  place  to  death  ere  I  forget 

The  pride  that  change  of  years  has  quenched  not 
yet. 

II. 

Pride  from  profoundest  humbleness  of  heart 
Born,  self-uplift  at  once  and  self-subdued. 
Glowed,  seeing  his  face  whose  hand  liad  borne  such 
part 
In  so  sublime  and  strange  vicissitude 
As  then  filled  all  faint  liearts  with  hope  renewed 
To  think  upon,  and  triumph  ;  though  the  time 
Were  dense  and  foul  with  darkness  cast  from  crime 
Across  the  heights  that  hope  was  fain  to  climb. 


TO  AURELIO  SAFFI.  399 

III. 

Hope  that  liad  risen,  a  sun  to  match  the  snn 
Tliat  fills  and  feeds  all  Italy  with  light, 

Had  set,  and  left  the  crowning  work  undone 

That  raised  up  Koine  out  of  the  shadoAV  of  night  : 
Yet  so  to  have  won  the  worst,  to  have    fought  the 
fight, 

Seemed,  as  above  the  grave  of  hope  cast  down 

Stood  faith,   and   smiled  against  the  whole  world's 
frown, 

A  conquest  lordlier  than  the  conqueror's  crown. 

IV. 

To  have  won  the  worst  that  chance  could    give,  and 
worn 
The  wreath  of  adverse  fortune  as  a  sign 
More     bright    than     binds    the    brows    of    victory, 
borne 
Higher  than  all  trophies  borne  of  tyrants  shine — 
What  lordlier  gift  than  this,  what  more  divine. 
Can  earth  or  heaven  make  manifest,  and  bid 
Men's  hearts    bow  down  and   honor  ?     Fate  lies  hid, 
But  not  the  work  that  true  men  dared  and  did. 


The  years  have  given  and  taken  away  since  then 
More  than  was  then  foreseen  of  hope  or  fear. 

Fallen  are  the  towers  of  empire  :  all  the  men 

Whose  names  made  faint  the  heart  of  the  earth  to 

hear 
Are  broken  as  the  trust  they  held  so  dear 

Who  put  their  trusts  in  princes  :  and  the  sun 

Sees  Italy,  as  he  in  heaven  is,  one  ; 

But  sees  not  him  who  spake,  and  this  was  done. 

VI. 

Not  by  the  wise  man's  wit,  the  strong   man's  hand. 
By  swordsman's  or  by  statesman's  craft  or  might. 

Sprang  life  again  where  life  had  left  the  land, 

And  light  where  hope  nor  memory  nor  saw    light  : 
Not  first  nor  most  by  grace  of  these  was  night 


400  TO  AURELIO  SAFPI. 

Cast  out,  and  darkness  driven  before  the  day 

Far  as  a  battle-broken  host's  array 

Flies,  and  no  force  that  fain  would  stay  it  can  stay. 

VII. 

One  spirit  alone,  one  soul  more  strong  than  fate. 
One  heart  whose  heat  was  as  the  sundown's  fire. 

Fed  first  with  flame  as  heaven's  immaculate 
Faith,  worn  and  wan  and  desperate  of  desire  : 
And  men  that  felt  that  sacred  breath  suspire 

Felt  by  mere  speech  and  presence  fugitive 

The  holy  spirit  of  man  made  perfect  give 

Breath  to  the  lips  of  death,  that  death  might  live. 

VIII. 

Not  all  as  yet  is  yours,  nor  all  is  ours. 

That  shall,  if  righteousness  and  reason  be. 
Fulfil  the  trust  of  time  with  happier  hours 

And  set  their  sons  who  fought  for  freedom  free  ; 
Even  theirs  whose  faith  sees,  as  they  may  not  see. 
Your  land  and  ours  wax  lovelier  in  the  light 
Republican,  whereby  the  thrones  most  bright 
Look  hoar  and  wan  as  eve  or  black  as  night. 


IX. 

Our  words  and  works,  our  thoughts  and  songs  turn 
thither. 
Toward    one    great  end,   as  waves   that  press  and 
roll. 
Though    waves   be   spent  and  ebb  like  hopes  that 
wither, 
These  shall  subside  not  ere  they  find  the  goal. 
We  know  it,  who  yet  with  unforgetful  soul 
See  shine  and  smile,  where  none  may  smite  or  strive, 
Above  us,  higher  than  clouds  and  winds  can  drive. 
The  soul  beloved  beyond  all  souls  alive. 


A  SUNSET.  401 

A  SUNSET. 

NOVEMBER  25,  1885. 
TO  VICTOR  HUGO. 


It  was  the  dawn  of  winter  :  sword  in  sheath, 

Change,  veiled  and   mild,  came  down  the  gradual 
air 
With  cold  slow  smiles  that  hid  the  doom  beneath. 

Five  days  to  die  in  yet  were  autumn's,  ere 
The  last  leaf  withered  from  his  flowerless  wreath. 
South,    east,  and  north,    our  skies  were  all  blown 
bare, 
But  westward  over  glimmering  liolt  and  heath 

Cloud,  wind,  and   light  had  made  a  heaven  more 
fair 
Than  ever  dream  or  truth 
Showed  earth  in  time's  keen  youth 
AVhen  men  with  angels  communed  unaware. 
Above  the  sun's  head,  now 
Veiled  even  to  the  ardent  brow. 
Rose    two  sheer  wings  of  sundering    cloud,  that 
were 
As  a  bird's  poised  for  vehement  flight. 
Full-fledged  with  plumes  of  tawny  fire  and  hoar  gray 
light. 

II. 

As  midnight  black,  as  twilight  brown,  they  spread, 
But  feathered  thick  with  flame  that  streaked  and 
lined 
Their  living  darkness,  ominous  else  of  dread, 

From  south  to  northmost  verge  of  heaven  inclined 
Most  like  some  giant  angel's,  whose  bent  head 

Bowed  earthward,  as  with  message  for  mankind 
Of  doom  or  benediction  to  be  shed 

From  passage  of  his  presence.     Far  behind. 
Even  while  tliey  seemed  to  close, 
Stooji,  and  take  flight,  arose 

26 


402  A  SUNSET. 

Above  them,  liiglier  than  heavenliest  thonght  may 
find 
In  light  or  night  supreme 
Of  vision  or  of  dream. 
Immeasurable  of  men's  eyes  or  mounting  mind, 
Heaven,  manifest  in  manifold 
Light  of  pure  pallid  amber,  cheered  with  fire  of  gold. 

III. 

And  where  the  fine  gold  faded  all  the  sky 

Shone  green  as  the  outer  sea  when  April  glows. 
Inlaid  with  flakes  and  feathers  fledged  to  fly 

Of  cloud  suspense  in  rapture  and  repose, 
With  large  live  petals,  broad  as  love  bids  lie 
Full  open  when  the  sun  salutes  the  rose. 
And  small  rent  sprays  wherewith  the  heavens  most 
high 
Were  strewn  as  autumn  strews  the  garden-close 
With  ruinous  roseleaves  whirled 
About  their  wan  chill  world, 
Through  wind-worn  bowers  that   now    no  music 
knows. 
Spoil  of  the  dim  dusk  year 
Whose  utter  night  is  near. 
And  near  the  flower  of  dawn  beyond  it  blows ; 
Till  east  and  west  were  fire  and  light, 
As  though  the  dawn  to  come  had  flushed  the  coming 
night. 

IV. 

The  highways  paced  of  men  that  toil  or  play. 

The  byways  known  of  none  but  lonely  feet. 

Were  paven  of  purple  woven  of  night  and  day 

With  hands  that  met  as  hands  of  friends  might 
meet — 
As  though  night's  were  not  lifted  up  to  slay 

And  day's  had  waxed  not  weaker.     Peace   more 
sweet 
Than  music,  light  more  soft  than  shadow,  lay 

On  downs  and  moorlands  Avan  with  day's  defeat. 
That  watched  afar  above 
Life's  very  rose  of  love 


A  SUNSET.  403 

Let  all  its  lustrons  leaves   fall,    fade,    and    fleet. 
And  fill  all  heaven  and  earth 
Full  as  witli  fires  of  birth 
Whence  time  should  feed  his  years  with  light  and 
heat  : 
Nay,  not  life's,  but  a  flower  more  strong 
Than  life  or  time  or  death,  love's  very  rose  of  song. 

V. 

Song  visible,  whence  all  men's  eyes  were  lit 

With  love  and  loving  Avonder  :  song  that  glowed 
Through  cloud  and  change  on  souls  that  knew  not  it 
And  hearts  that   wist  not  whence  their  comfort 
flowed, 
"Whence  fear  was  lightened  of  her  fever-fit. 

Whence  anguish  of  her  life-compelling  load. 
Yea,  no  man's  head  whereon  the  fire  alit. 
Of  all  that  passed  along  that  sunset  road 
Westward,  no  brow  so  drear. 
No  eye  so  dull  of  cheer. 
No  face  so  mean  whereon  that  light  abode. 
But  as  with  alien  pride 
Strange  godhead  glorified 
Each  feature  flushed   from  heaven  with  fire  that 
showed 
The  likeness  of  its  own  life  wrought 
By  strong  transfiguration  as  of  living  thought. 

vr. 

Nor  only  clouds  of  the  everlasting  sky, 

Nor  only  men  that  paced  that  sunward  way 
To  the  utter  bourne  of  evening,  passed  not  by 

Un blest  or  unillumined  :  none  might  say. 
Of  all  things  visible  in  the  wide  world's  eye, 

That  all  too  low  for  all  that  grace  it  lay  : 
The  lowliest  lakelets  of  the  moorland  nigh. 

The  narrowest  pools  where  shallowest  wavelets  play, 
Were  filled  from  heaven  above 
With  liglit  like  fire  of  love. 
With  flames  and  colours  like  a  dawn  in  May, 
As  hearts  tiiat  lowlier  live 
With  light  of  thoughts  that  give 


404  A  SUNSET. 

Light  from  the  depth  of  souls  more  deep  than  they 
Through  song's  or  story's  kindling  scroll, 
The  splendor  of  the  shadow  that  reveals  the  soul. 

vir. 

For,  when  such  light  is  in  the  world,   we  share, 

All  of  us,  all  the  rays  thereof  that  shine  : 
Its  presence  is  alive  in  the  unseen  air. 

Its  fire  within  our  veins  as  quickening  wine  ; 
A  spirit  is  shed  on  all  men  everywhere, 

Known  or  not  known  of  all  men  for  divine. 
Yea,  as  the  snn  makes  heaven,  that  light  makes  fair 
All  souls  of  ours,  all  lesser  souls  than  thine, 
Priest,  prophet,  seer  and  sage, 
Lord  of  a  subject  age 
That  bears  thy  seal  upon  it  for  a  sign  ; 
Whose  name  shall  be  thy  name. 
Whose  light  thy  light  of  fame, 
The  light  of  love  that  makes  thy  soul  a  shrine  ; 
Whose  record  through  all  years  to  be 
Shall  bear  this  witness  written — that  its  womb  bare 
thee. 

VIII. 

0  mystery,  whence  to  one  man's  hand  was  given 
Power  upon  all  things  of  the  spirit,  and  might 
Whereby  the  veil  of  all  the  years  was  riven 

And  naked  stood  the  secret  soul  of  night ! 
0  marvel,  hailed  of  eyes  whence  cloud  is  driven, 

That  shows  at  last  wrong  reconciled  with  right 
By  death  divine  of  evil  and  sin  forgiven  ! 
0  light  of  song,  whose  fire  is  perfect  light ! 
No  speech,  no  voice,  no  thought, 
No  love,  avails  us  aught 
For  service  of  thanksgiving  in  his  sight 
Who  hath  given  us  all  for  ever 
Such  gifts  that  man  gave  never 
So  many  and  great  since  first  Time's  wings  took 
flight. 
Man  may  not  praise  a  spirit  above 
Man's  :  life  and  death  shall  praise  him  :  we  can  only 
love, 


CHILDREN.  405 

IX. 

Life,  everlasting  while  the  worlds  endure, 

Death,  self-abased  before  a  power  more  high. 
Shall  bear  one  witness,  and  their  word  stand  sure. 

That  not  till  time  be  dead  shall  this  man  die. 
Love,  like  a  bird,  comes  loyal  to  his  lure  ; 

Fame  flies  before  him,  wingless  else  to  fly. 
A  child's  heart  toward  his  kind  is  not  more  pure, 
An  eagle's  toward  the  sun  no  lordlier  eye. 
Awe  sweet  as  love  and  proud 
As  fame,  though  hushed  and  bowed. 
Yearns  toward  him  silent  as  his  face  goes  by  : 
All  crowns  before  his  crown 
Triumphantly  bow  down. 
For  pride  that  one  more  great  than  all  draws  nigh  : 

All  souls  applaud,  all  hearts  acclaim. 
One  heart  benign,  one  soul  supreme,  one  conquering 
ame. 


CHILDREN. 

Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

No  glory  that  ever  was  shed 
From  the  crowning  star  of  the  seven 

That  crown  the  north  world's  head, 

No  word  that  ever  was  spoken 
Of  human  or  godlike  tongue, 

Gave  ever  such  godlike  token 
Since  human  harps  were  strung. 

No  sign  that  ever  was  given 

To  faithful  or  faithless  eyes 
Showed  ever  beyond  clouds  riven 

So  clear  a  Paradise. 

Earth's  creeds  may  be  seventy  times  seven 
And  blood  have  defiled  each  creed  : 

If  of  such  be  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
It  must  be  heaven  indeed. 


4^06  A  CHILD'S  LAUGHTER. 


A  CHILD'S  LAUGHTER. 

All  the  bells  of  heaven   may  ring, 
All  the  birds  of  heaven  may  sing, 
All  the  wells  on  earth  may  spring, 
All  the  winds  on  earth  may  bring 

All  sweet  sounds  together  ; 
Sweeter  far  than  all  things  heard. 
Hand  of  harper,  tone  of  bird, 
Sound  of  woods  at  sundawn  stirred. 
Welling  water's  winsome  word. 

Wind  in  warm  wan  weather. 

One  thing  yet  there  is,  that  none 
Hearing  ere  its  chime  -be  done 
Knows  not  well  the  sweetest  one 
Heard  of  man  beneath  the  sun. 

Hoped  in  heaven  hereafter  ; 
Soft  and  strong  and  loud  and  light, 
Very  sound  of  very  light 
Heard  from  morning's  rosiest  height. 
When  the  soul  of  all  delight 

Fills  a  child's  clear  laughter. 

Golden  bells  of  welcome  rolled 
Never  forth  such  notes,  nor  told 
Hours  so  blithe  in  tones  so  bold. 
As  the  radiant  nioutii  of  gold 

Here  that  rings  forth  heaven. 
If  the  golden-crested  wren 
Were  a  nightingale — why,  then. 
Something  seen  and  heard  of  men 
Might  be  half  as  sweet  as  when 

Laughs  a  child  of  seven. 

A  CHILD'S  SLEEP. 

As  light  on  a  lake's  face  moving 
Between  a  cloud  and  a  cloud 

Till  night  reclaim  it,  reproving 
The  heart  that  exults  too  loud. 


A  SONG  OF  WELCOME.  407 

The  heart  that  watching  rejoices 

When  soft  it  swims  into  sight 
Applauded  of  all  the  voices 

And  stars  of  the  windy  night. 

So  brief  and  unsure,  but  sweeter 

Than  ever  a  moondawn  smiled, 
Moves,  measured  of  no  tune's  metre. 

The  song  in  the  soul  of  a  child ; 

The  song  that  the  sweet  soul  singing 

Half  listens,  and  hardly  hears. 
Though  sweeter  than  joy-bells  ringing 

And  brighter  than  joy's  own  tears  ; 

The  song  that  remembrance  of  pleasure 

Begins,  and  forgetfulness  ends 
With  a  soft  swift  change  in  the  measure 

That  rings  in  remembrance  of  friends. 

As  the  moon  on  the  lake's  face  flashes. 

So  haply  may  gleam  at  whiles 
A  dream  through  the  dear  deep  lashes 

Whereunder  a  child's  eye  smiles. 

And  the  least  of  us  all  that  love  him 

May  take  for  a  moment  part 
With  angels  around  and  above  him. 

And  I  find  place  in  his  heart. 


A  SOXG  OF  WELCOME. 

If  the  wind  and  the  sunlight  of  April  and  August 
had  mingled  the  past  and  hereafter 

In  a  single  adorable  season  whose  life  were  a  rapture 
of  love  and  of  laughter. 

And  the  blithest  of  singers  were  back  with  a  song  ; 
if  again  from  his  tomb  as  from  prison. 

If  again  from  the  night  or  the  twilight  of  ages  Aristo- 
phanes had  arisen, 

With  the  gold-feathered  wings  of  a  bird  that  were 
also  a  god  upon  earth  at  his  shoulders, 


408  A  SONG  OF  WELCOMT" 

And  the  gold-flowing  laugh  of  the  manhood  of  old  at 

his  lips,  for  a  joy  to  beholders, 
He  alone  unrebuked  of  presumption  were  able  to  set 

to  some  adequate  measure 
The  delight  of  our  eyes  in  the  dawn  that  restores 

them  the  sun  of  their  sense  and  the  pleasure. 
For  the  days  of  the  darkness  of  spirit  are  over  for  all 

of  US  here,  and  the  season 
When  desire  was  a  longing,  and  absence  a  thorn,  and 

rejoicing  a  word  without  reason. 
For  the  roof  overhead  of  the  pines  is  astir  with  de- 
light as  of  jubilant  voices, 
And  the  floor  underfoot  of  the  bracken  and  heatlier 

alive  as  a  heart  that  rejoices. 
For  the  house  that  was  childless  awhile,  and  the  light 

of  it  darkened,  the  pulse  of  it  dwindled, 
Kings  radiant  again  with  a  child's  bright  feet,  with 

the  light  of  his  face  is  rekindled. 
And   the  ways  of  the  meadows  that  knew  him,  the 

sweep  of  the  down  that  the  sky's  belt  closes, 
Grow  gladder  at  heart  than  the  soft  wind  made  them 

whose  feet  were  but  fragrant  with  roses, 
Though  the  fall  of  the  year  be  upon  us,  who  trusted 

in  June  and  by  June  were  defrauded. 
And  the  summer  that  brought  us  not  back  the  desire 

of  our  eyes  be  gone  hence  unapplauded. 
For  July  came  joyless  among  us,  and  August  went 

out  from  us  arid  and  sterile. 
And  the  hope  of  our  hearts,  as  it  seemed,  was  no  more 

than  a  flower  that  the  seasons  imperil. 
And  the  joy  of  our  liearts,  as  it  seemed,  than  a  thought 

Avhicli  regret  had  not  heart  to  remember. 
Till  four  dark  months  overpast  were  atoned  for,  and 

summer  begaii  in  September. 
Hark,  April  again  as  a  bird  in  the  house  with  a  child's 

voice  hither  and  thither  : 
See,  May  in  the  garden  again  with  a  child's  face  cheer- 
ing the  woods  ere  they  wither, 
June  laughs  in  the  light  of  his  eyes,  and  July  on  the 

sunbright  cheeks  of  him  slumbers. 
And  August  glows  in  a  smile  more   sweet  than  the 

cadence  of  gold-nioutlied  numbers. 


TO  WILLIAM  BEI,L  SCOTT.  409 

In  the  morning  the  sight  of  him  brightens  the  ruh, 

and  the  noon  with  delight  in  liini  flushes, 
And  the  silence  of  nightfall  is  music  about  him  as  soft 

as  the  sleep  that  it  hushes. 
We  awake  with  a  sense  of  a  sunrise  that  is  not  a  gift 

of  the  sundawn's  giving, 
And  a  voice  that  salutes  us  is  sweeter  than  all  sounds 

else  in  the  world  of  the  living. 
And  a  presence  that  warms  us  is  brighter  than  all  in 

the  world  of  our  visions  beholden. 
Though  the  dreams  of  our  sleep  were  as  those  that  the 

light  of  a  world  witliout  gi'ief  makes  golden. 
For  the  best  that  the  best  of  us  ever  devised  as  a  like- 
ness of  heaven  and  its  glory, 
What  was  it  of  old,  or  what  is  it  and  will  be  forever, 

in  song  or  in  story. 
Or  in  shape  or  in  color  of  carven  or  painted  resem- 

blance,  adored  of  all  ages. 
But  a  vision  recorded  of  children  alive  in  the  pictures 

of  old  or  the  pages  ? 
Where  children  are  not,  heaven  is  not,  and  heaven  if 

they  come  not  again  shall  be  never  : 
But  the  face  and  the  voice  of  a  child  are  assurance  of 

heaven  and  its  promise  forever. 


SONNETS. 

TO  WILLIAM  BELL  SCOTT. 

The  larks  are  loud  above  our  leagues  of  whin. 
Now  the  sun's  perfume  fills  their  glorious  gold 
With  odor  like  the  color  :  all  the  wold 
Is  only  light  and  song  and  wind  wherein 
These  twain  are  blent  in  one  with  shining  din. 
And  now  your  gift,  a  giver's  kingly-souled, 
Dear  old  fast  friend  whose  honors  grow  not  old, 
Bids  memory's  note  as  loud  and  sweet  begin. 
Though  all  but  we  from  life  he  now  gone  forth 
Of  that  bright  household  in  our  joyous  north 
Where  I,  scarce  clear  of  boyhood' just  at  end. 

First  met  your  hand  ;  yet  under  life's  clear  dome 


410    THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

Now  seventy  strenuous  years  have  crowned  my  friend, 
Shines  no  less  bright  his  full-slieaved  harvest  home. 
April  20,  1882. 

ON    THE   DEATHS    OF   THOMAS    CARLYLE 
AND  GEOKGE  ELIOT. 

Tavo  souls  diverse  out  of  our  liuniau  sight 

Pass,  followed  one  with  love  and  each  with  wonder  : 
The  stormy  sophist  with  his  mouth  of  thunder, 
Clothed  with  loud  words  and  mantled  in  the  might 
Of  darkness  and  magnificence  of  night  ; 

And  one  whose  eye  could  smite  the  night  in  sun- 
der. 
Searching  if  light  or  no  light  were  thereunder, 
And  found  in  love  of  loving-kindness  light. 
Duty  divine  and  Thought  with  eyes  of  fire 
Still  following  Righteousness  with  deep  desire 

Shone  sole  and  stern  before  her  and  above 
Sure  stars  and  sole  to  steer  by  ;  but  more  sweet 
Shone  lower  the  loveliest  lamp  for  earthly  feet, — 
The  light  of  little  children,  and  their  love. 

AFTER  LOOKING  INTO  CARLYLE'S 
REMINISCENCES. 


Three  men  lived  yet  when  this  dead  man  was  young, 
Whose  names  and  words  endure  forever  :  one 
Whose  eyes  grew  dim  with  straining  toward  the 
sun, 
And  his  wings  weakened,  and  his  angel's  tongue 
Lost  half  the  sweetest  song  was  ever  sung. 

But  like  the  strain  half  uttered,  earth  hears  none, 
Nor  shall  man  hear  till  all  men's  songs  are  done  ; 
One  whose  clear  spirit  like  an  eagle  hung 
Between  the  mountains  hallowed  by  his  love 
And  the  sky  stainless  as  his  soul  above  ; 

And  one,  the  sweetest  heart  that  ever  spake 
The  brightest  words  wherein  sweet  wisdom  smiled. 
These  deathless  names  by  this  dead  snake  defiled 
Bid  memory  spit  upon  him  for  their  sake. 


DICKENS.  411 

II. 

Sweet  heart,  forgive  me  for  thine  own  sweet  sake, 
Whose  kind  blithe  soul  such  seas  of  sorrow  swam, 
And  for  my  love's  sake,  powerless  as  I  am 
For  love  to  praise  thee,  or  like  thee  to  make 
Music  of  mirth  where  hearts  less  pure  would  break. 
Less  pure  thau  thine,  our  life-unspotted  Lamb. 
Things  hatefullest  thou  hadst  not  heart  to  damn. 
Nor  wouldst  have  set  thine  heel  on  this  dead  snake. 
Let  worms  consume  its  memory  with  its  tongue, 
The  fang  that  stabbed  fair  Truth,  the  lip  that  stung 

Men's  memories  uncorroded  with  its  breath. 
Forgive  me,  that  wath  bitter  words  like  his 
I  mix  the  gentlest  English  name  that  is, 

The  tenderest  held  of  all  that  know  not  death. 

A  LAST  LOOK. 

Sick  of  self-love,  Malvolio,  like  an  owl 

That  hoots  the  sun  rc-rison  where  starlight  sank. 
With  German  garters  crossed  athwart  thy  frank 
Stout  Scottish    legs,   men  watched  thee    snarl  and 
scowl. 
And  boys  responsive  with  reverberate  howl 
Shrilled,  hearing  how  to  thee  the  springtime  stank, 
And  as  thine  own  soul  all  the  world  smelt  rank. 
And  as  thine  own  thoughts  Liberty  seemed  foul. 
Now,  for  all  ill  tlioughts  nursed  and  ill  words  given 
Not  all  condemned,  not  utterly  forgiven. 

Son  of  the  storm  and  darkness,  pass  in  peace. 
Peace  upon  earth  thou  knewest  not ;  now,  being  dead. 
Rest,  with  nor  curse  nor  blessing  on  thine  head. 
Where  high-strung  hate  and  strenuous  envy  cease. 

DICKENS. 

Chief  in  thy  generation  born  of  men 

Whom  English  praise  acclaimed  as  English-born, 
With   eyes  that  matched   the   world  wide  eyes  of 
morn 
For  gleam  of  tears  or  laughter,  tenderest  then 
When  thoughts  of  children  warmed   their  light,  or 
when 


412    LAMB'S  SPECIMENS  OF  DRAMATIC  POETS. 

Eeverence  of  age  with  love  and  labor  worn, 
Or  godlike  pity  fired  with  godlike  scorn. 
Shot  through  them  flame  that  winged  thy  swift  live 

pen  : 
Where  stars  and  suns  that  we  behold  not  burn, 

Higher  even  than  here,   tliough  highest  was  here 

thy  place, 
Love  sees  thy  spirit  laugh  and  speak  and  shine 
With  Shakespeare,  and  the  soft  bright  soul  of  Sterne, 
And  Fielding's  kindliest  might,  and  Goldsmith's 
grace  ; 
Scarce  one  more  loved  or  worthier  love  than  thine. 


ON  LAMB'S  SPECIMENS  OF  DRAMATIC 
POETS. 


If  all  the  flowers  of  all  the  fields  on  earth 
By  wonder-working  summer  were  made  one. 
Its  fragrance  were  not  sweeter  in  the  sun. 
Its  treasure-house  of  leaves  were  not  more  worth 
Than  those  wherefrom  thy  light  of  musing  mirth 
Shone,  till  each  leaf  whereon  thy  pen  would  run 
Breathed  life,  and  all  its  breath  was  benison. 
Beloved  beyond  all  names  of  English  birth. 
More  dear  than  mightier   memories  !  gentlest  name 
That  ever  clothed  itself  with  flower  sweet  fame. 
Or  linked  itself  with  loftiest  names  of  old 

By  right  and  might  of  loving  ;  I,  that  am 
Less  than  the  least  of  those  within  thy  fold, 
Give  only  thanks  for  them  to  thee,  Charles  Lamb. 

II. 

So  many  a  year  had  borne  its  own  bright  bees 
And  slain  them  since  thy  honey-bees  were  hived, 
John  Day,  in  cells  of  flower-sweet  verse  contrived 
So  well  with  craft  of  moulding  melodies, 
Thy  soul  perchance  in  amaranth  fields  at  ease 
Thought  not  to  hear  the  sound  on  earth  revived 
Of  summer  music  from  the  spring  derived 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  4lS 

When  thy  song  sacked  the  flower  of  flowering  trees. 
But  tliiue  was  not  the  chance  of  every  day  : 

Time,  after  many  a  darkling  hour,  grew  sunny, 
And  light  between  the  clouds  ere  sunset  swam, 
Laughing,  and  kissed  their  darkness  all  away, 

When,    touched   and   tasted   and    approved,    thy 
honey 
Took  subtler  sweetness  from  the  lips  of  Lamb. 

CHEISTOPHER  MARLOWE. 

Crowned,  girdled,  garbed,  and  shod  with  light  and 
fire, 

Son  first-born  of  the  morning,  sovereign  star  ! 

Soul  nearest  ours  of  all,  that  wert  most  far, 
Most  far  off  in  the  absym  of  time,  thy  lyre 
Hung  highest  above  the  dawn-enkindled  quire 

Where  all  ye  sang  together,  all  that  are. 

And  all  the  starry  songs  behind  thy  car 
Rang  sequence,  allour  souls  acclaim  thee  sire. 

"  If  all  the  pens  that  ever  poets  held 

Had  fed  the  feeling  of  their  masters'  thoughts," 
And  as  with  rush  of  hurtling  chariots 

The  flight   of  all  their  spirits  were  impelled 

Toward  one  great  end,  thy  glory — Nay,  not  then, 
Not  yet  mightst  thou  be  praised  enough  of  men. 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 

Not  if  men's  tongue  and  angels'  all  in  one 

Spake,  might  the  word  be  said  that  might  speak 

Thee. 
Streams,  winds,  woods,  flowers,  fields,  mountains, 
yea,  the  sea, 
Wiiat  power  is  in  them  all  to  praise  the  sun  ? 
His  praise  is  this, — he  can  be  praised  of  none. 
Man,  woman,  child,  praise  God  for  him  ;  but  he 
Exults  not  to  be  worshipped,  but  to  be. 
He  is  ;  and,  being,  beholds  his  work  well  done.  _ 
All  joy,  all  glory,  all  sorrow,  all  strength,  all  mirth, 
Are  his  :  without  him,  day  were  night  on  earth. 


414  BEN  JONSON. 

Time  knows  not  his  from  time's  own  period. 
All  lutes,  all  harps,  all  viols,  all  flutes,  all  lyres, 
Fall  dumb  before  him  ere  one  string  suspires. 

All  stars  are  angels  ;  but  the  sun  is  God. 


BEN  JONSOK 

Broad-based,     broad-fronted,     bounteous,    multi- 
form. 
With  many  a  valley  impleached  with  ivy  and  vine. 
Wherein  the  springs  of  all  the  streams  run  wine. 

And  many  a  crag  full-faced  against  the  storm. 

The  mountain  wliere  thy  Muse's  feet  made  warm 
Those  lawns  that  revelled  with  her  dance  divine. 
Shines  yet  with  fire  as  it  was  wont  to  shine 

From  tossing  torches  round  the  dance  a-swarm. 

Nor  less,  high-stationed  on  the  gray  grave  heights, 
High-thoughted  seers  with  heaven's  heart-kindling 
lights 
Hold  converse  :  and  the  herd  of  meaner  things 
Knows  or  by  fiery  scourge  or  fiery  shaft 
When  wrath    on    thy   broad   brows   has  risen,    and 
laughed, 
Darkening   tliy   soul   with   shadow  of  thunderous 
wings. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

An  hour  ere  sudden  sunset  fired  the  west, 
Arose  two  stars  upon  the  pale  deep  east. 
The  hall  of  heaven  was    clear  for  night's    high 
feast. 

Yet  was  not  yet  day's  fiery  heart  at  rest. 

Love  leapt  up  from  his  mother's  burning  breast 
To  see  those  warm  twin  lights,  as  day  decreased, 
Wax  wider,  till,  when  all  the  sun  had  ceased. 

As  suns  they  shone  from  evening's  kindled  crest. 

Across  them  and  between,  a  quickening  fire. 

Flamed  Venus,  laughing  with  appeased  desire. 
Their  dawn,  scarce  lovelier  for  the  gleam  of  tears. 

Filled  half  the  hollow  shell  'twixt  heaven  and.  earth 


JOHN  FORD.  415 

With   sound   like   moonlight,   mingling    moan   luul 
mirth, 
Which  rings  and  glitters  down  the  darkling  years. 


PHILIP  MASSINGER. 

Clouds  here  and  there  arisen  an  hour  past  noon 
Checkered  our   English   heaven  with  lengthening 

bars 
And  shadow  and  sound  of  wheel-winged  thunder- 
cars 
Assembling  strength  to  put  forth  tempest  soon, 
When  the  clear  still  warm  concord  of  thy  tune 
Rose  under  skies  unscared  by  reddening  Mars, 
Yet,  like  a  sound  of  silver  speech  of  stars. 
With  full  mild  flame  as  of  the  mellow  moon. 
Grave  and  great-hearted  Massinger,  thy  face 
High  melanclioly  liglits  with  loftier  grace 

Than  gilds  the  brows  of  revel  :  sad  and  wise. 
The  spirit  of  thought  that  moved  thy  deeper  song. 
Sorrow  serene  in  soft  calm  scorn  of  wrong, 
Speaks  patience  yet  from  thy  majestic  eyes. 


JOHN  FORD. 

Hew^  hard  the  marble  from  the  mountain's  heart 
Where  hardest  night  holds  fast  in  iron  gloom 
Gems  brighter  than  an  April  dawn  in  bloom, 
That  his  Memnonian  likeness  thence  may  start 
Revealed,  whose  hand  with  higli  funereal  art 

Carved  night,  and  cliiselled  shadow  :  be  the  tomb 
That   speaks   him    famous   graven    with   signs   of 
doom. 
Intrenched  inevitably  in  lines  athwart. 
As  on  some  tliunder-blasted  Titan's  brow 
His  record  of  rebellion.     Not  the  day 

Shall  strike  fortli  music  from  so  stern  a  chord, 
Touching  tliis  marble  :  darkness,  none  knows  how, 
And  stars  impenetrable  of  midnight,  may. 
So  looms  th-'  likeness  of  thy  soul,  John  Ford. 


416  JOHN  WEBSTER. 


JOHN  WEBSTER. 

Thunder  :  the  flesh  quails,  and  the  soul  bows  down. 

Night  :    east,    west,    south,  and    northward,  very 
night. 

Star  upon  struggling  star  strives  into  sight. 
Star  after  shuddering  star  the  deep  storms  drown. 
The  very  throne  of  night,  her  very  crown, 

A  man  lays  hand  on,  and  usurps  her  right. 

Song  from  the  liighest  of  heaven's  imperious  height 
Shoots,  as  a  fire  to  smite  some  towering  town. 
Rage,  anguish,  harrowing  fear,  heart-crazing  crime, 
Make  monstrous  all  the  murderous  face  of  Time 

Shown  in  the  spheral  orbit  of  a  glass 
Revolving.     Earth  cries  out  from  all  her  graves. 
Erail,  on  frail  rafts,  across  wide-wallowing  waves. 

Shapes  here  and  there  of  child  and  mother  pass. 


THOMAS  DECKER. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  darkling  life,  where  sin 
Laughs  piteously  that  sorrow  should  not  know 
Her  own  ill  name,  nor  woe  be  counted  woe  ; 
Where  hate  and  craft  and  lust  make  drearier  din 
Than  sounds  through  dreams  that  grief  holds  revel 

What  charm  of  joy-bells  ringing,  streams  that  flow. 
Wind  that  blow  healing  in  each  note  they  blow. 
Is  this  that  the  outer  darkness  hears  begin  ? 

0  sweetest  heart  of  all  thy  time  save  one. 
Star  seen  for  love's  sake  nearest  to  the  sun. 

Hung  lamplike  o'er  a  dense  and  doleful  city. 
Not  Shakespeare's  very  spirit,  howe'er  more  great, 
Than  thine  toward  man  was  more  compassionate,^ 

Nor  gave  Christ  praise  from  lips  more  sweet  with 
pity. 


THOMAS  HEYWOOD.  4<17 


THOMAS  MIDDLETON. 

A  WILD  moon  riding  high  from  cloud  to  cloud, 

That  sees  and  sees  not,  glimmering  far  beneath. 

Hell's  children  revel  along  the  shuddering  heath 
With  dirge-like  mirth  and  raiment  like  a  shroud  ; 
A  worse  fair  face  than  witchcraft's,  passion-pi-oud, 

With    brows    blood-flecked    behind    their    bridal 
wreath, 

And  lips  that  bade  the  assassin's  sword  find  sheath 
Deep  in  the  heart  whereto  love's  heart  was  vowed  ; 
A  game  of  close  contentious  crafts  and  creeds 

Played  till  Avhite  England  bring  black   Spain  to 
shame  ; 
A  son's  bright  sword  and  brighter  soul,  whose  deeds 

High  conscience  lights  for  mother's  love  and  fame  ; 
Pure  gypsy  flowers,  and  poisonous  courtly  weeds  : 

Such  tokens  and  such  trophies  crown  thy  name. 


THOMAS  HEYWOOD. 

Tom,  if  they  loved  thee  best  who  called  thee  Tom, 
What  else  may  all  men  call  thee,  seeing  thus  bright 
Even  yet  the  laughing  and  the  Aveeping  light 
That  still  thy  kind  old  eyes  are  kindled  from  ? 
Small  care  was  thine  to  assail  and  overcome 
Time  and  his  child  Oblivion  :  yet  of  right 
Thy  name  has  part  with  names  of  lordlier  might 
For  English  love  and  homely  sense  of  home, 
Whose    fragrance    keeps    thy    small   sweet    bay-leaf 
young, 
And  gives  it  place  aloft  among  thy  peers. 
Whence  many  a  wreath  once  higher  strong  Time 
has  hurled  ; 
And    this    thy    praise    is    sweet    on    Shakespeare's 
tongue, — 
"  0  good  old  man  !  how  well  in  thee  a])pears 
Tlio  constant  service  of  the  antique  world  !  " 


418  JOHN  MARSTON: 


JOHN  MARSTON". 

The  bitterness  of  death  and  bitterer  scorn 

Breathes  from  the  broad-leafed  aloe-plant  whence 

thou 
Wast  fain  to  gather  for  thy  bended  brow 
A  chaplet  by  no  gentler  forehead  worn. 
Grief  deep  as  hell,  wrath  hardly  to  be  borne, 

Ploughed  up  thy  soul  till  round  the  furrowing 

plough 
The  strange  black  soil  foamed,  as  a  black-beaked 
prow 
Bids   night-black  waves  foam  where   its  track   has 

torn. 
Too  faint  the  phrase  for  thee  that  only  saith 
Scorn  bitterer  than  the  bitterness  of  death 
Pervades  the  sullen  splendor  of  thy  soul, 
AVliere  hate  and  pain  make  war  on  force  and  fraud. 
And  all  the  strengths  of  tyrants  ;  whence  unflawed 
It  keeps  this  noble  heart  of  hatred  whole. 

GEORGE  CHAPMAN. 

High  priest  of  Homer,  not  elect  in  vain. 

Deep  trumpets  blow  before  thee,  shawms  behind 
Mix  music  with  the  rolling  wheels  that  wind 
Slow  through  the  laboring  triumph  of  thy  train  : 
Fierce  history,  molten  in  thy  forging  brain. 

Takes  form  and  fire  and  fashion  from  thy  mind. 
Tormented  and  transmuted  out  of  kind  : 
But  howsoe'er  thou  shift  thy  strenuous  strain. 
Like  Tailor  '  smooth,  like  Fisher^  swollen,  and  now 
Grim  Yarrington '  scarce    bloodier  marked  than 

thou. 
Then  bluff  as  Mayne's  '  or  broad-mouthed  Barry's' 
glee, 

1  Author  of  The  Hog  hath  lost  his  Pearl. 

2  Author  of  Fuinuis  Troes,  or  the  True  Trojans. 

3  Author  of  Two  Tragedies  in  One. 
*  Author  of  The  City  MatcJi. 

5  Author  of  Ram-Alley,  or  Merry  Tricks. 


JAMES  SHIRLEY.  419 

Proud  still  with  hoar  predomiuiuice  of  brow    . 

And  beard  like  foam  swept  off   the  broad   blown 

sea, 
Where'er  thou  go,  men's  reverence  goes  with  thee. 


JOHN  DAY. 

Day  was  a  full-blown  flower  in  heaven,  alive 
With  murmuring  joy  of  bees  and  birds  a-swarm. 
When  in  the  skies  of  song  yet  fluslied  and  warm 
With  music  where  all  passion  seems  to  strive 
For  utterance,  all  things  bright  and  fierce  to  drive 
Struggling  along  the  splendor  of  the  storm, 
Day  for  an  hour  put  off  his  fiery  form. 
And  golden  murmurs  from  a  golden  hive 
Across  the  strong  bright  summer  wind  were  heard, 
And  laughter  soft  as  smiles  from  girls  at  play, 
And  loud  from  lips  of  boys  brow-bound  with  May. 
Our  mightiest  age  lot  fall  its  gentlest  word, 
When  Song,  in  semblance  of  a  sweet  small  bird, 
Lit  fluttering  on  the  light  swift  hand  of  Day. 


JAMES  SHIRLEY. 

The  dusk  of  day's  decline  was  hard  on  dark 

When  evening  trembled  round  thy  glowworm  lamp 
That  slione  across  her  shades  and  dewy  damp, 
A  small  clear  beacon  whose  benignant  spark 
Was  gracious  yet  for  loiterers'  eyes  to  mark, 

Though  changed  the  watchword  of  our  English 

camp 
Since    the    outposts   rang   round    Marlowe's    lion 
ramp. 
When    thy   steed's  pace  went  ambling  round  Hyde 
Tark. 


And  in  the  thickening  twilight  under  thee 
Walks  Davenant,  pensive  in  tlie  i)aths  where  he, 
The  blithest  throat  that  (!ver  carolled  love 
lu  music  made  of  morning's  merriest  heart, 


420  THE  TRIBE  OF  BENJAMIN. 

Glad  Suckling,  stumbled  from  his  seat  above, 
And  reeled  on  slippery  roads  of  alien  art. 


THE  TRIBE  OF  BENJAMIN. 

Sons  born  of  many  a  loyal  Muse  to  Ben, 
All  true-begotten,  warm  with  wine  or  ale. 
Bright  from  the  broad  light  of  his  presence,  hail  I 

Prince  Randolpli,  nighest  his  throne  of  all  his  men, 

Being  highest  in  spirit  and   heart   who   hailed   him 
then 
King,  nor  might  other  spread  so  blithe  a  sail  : 
Cartwright,  a  soul  pent  in  with  narrower  pale, 

Praised  of  thy  sire  for  manful  might  of  pen  : 

Marmion,  whose  verse  keeps  alway  keen  and  fine 

The  perfume  of  their  Apollonian  M'ine, 

Who  shared  with  that  stout  sire  of  all  and  thee 

The  exuberant  chalice  of  his  echoing  shrine  : 
Is  not  your  praise  writ  broad  in  gold  which  he 
Inscribed,  that  all  who  praise  his  name  should  see  ? 


ANONYMOUS  PLAYS  :  ''  ARDEN  OF  FEVER- 
SHAM." 

Mother  whose  womb  brought  forth  our  man  of  men, 
Mother  of  Shakespeare,  whom  all  time  acclaims 
Queen    therefore,    sovereign    queen    of    English 
dames. 
Throned  higher  tlum  sat  thy  sonless  empress  then, 
Was  it  thy  son's  young  passion-guided  pen 
Which  drew,  reflected  from  encircling  flames, 
A  figure  marked  by  the  earlier  of  thy  names 
Wife,  and  from  all  her  wedded  kinswomen 
Marked  by  the  sign  of  murderess  ?     Pale  and  great, 
Great  in  her  grief  and  sin,  but  in  her  death 
And  anguish  of  her  penitential  breath 
Greater  than  all  her  sin  or  sin-born  fate. 
She  stands,  the  holocaust  of  dark  desire. 
Clothed  round  with  song  forever  as  with  fire, 


ANONYMOUS  PLAYS..  421 


ANONYMOUS  PLAYS. 

Ye  too,  dim  watchfires  of  some  darkling  hour. 
Whose  fame  forlorn  time  saves  not  nor  proclaims 
Forever,  but  forgetfulness  defames. 
And  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death  devour, 
Lift  up  ye  too  your  light,  put  forth  your  power. 
Let  the  far  twilight  feel  your  soft  small  flames. 
And  smile,  albeit  night  name  not  even  their  names. 
Ghost   by   ghost    passing,    flower    blown    down   on 

flower  ; 
That  sweet-tongued  shadow,  like  a  star's  that  passed 
Singing,  and  light  was  from  its  darkness  cast 

To  paint  the  face  of  Painting  fair  with  praise  : ' 
And  that  wherein  forefigured  smiles  the  pure 
Fraternal  face  of  Wordsworth's  Elidure 

Between  two  child-faced  masks  of  merrier  days." 

ANONYMOUS  PLAYS. 

More  yet  and  more,  and  yet  we  mark  not  all : 
The  Warning  fain  to  bid  fair  women  heed 
Its  hard  brief  note  of  deadly  doom  and  deed  ; ' 
The  verse  that  strewed  too  thick  with   flowers  the 

hall 
Whence  Nero  watched  his  fiery  festival  ;  * 
That  iron  page  wherein  men's  eyes  who  read 
See,  bruised  and  marred  between  two  babes  that 
bleed, 
A  mad  red-handed  husband's  martyr  fall  ;  ^ 
The  scene  which  crossed  and  streaked  with  mirth 

the  strife 
Of  Henry  with  his  sons  and  witchlike  wife  ;  ' 


1  Doctor  Dodypol. 
^Nobody  and  Somebody. 
"  A  Warning  for  fair  Women 
*The  Tragedy  of  Nero. 
^  A  Yorkshire  Tragedy 
« Look  about  you. 


422  THE  MANY. 

And  that  sweet  pageant  of  the  kindly  fiend, 

Who,  seeing  three  friends  in  spirit  and  heart  made 

one. 
Crowned   with   good   hap    the    true-love   wiles    he 

screened 
In  the  pleached  lanes  of  pleasant  Edmonton.' 


THE  MANY. 


Greene,  garlanded  wath  February's  few  flowers, 
Ere   March   came    in   with    Marlowe's   rapturous 

rage  ; 
Peele,  from  whose  hand  the  sweet  white  locks  of 
age 
Took  the  mild  chaplet  woven  of  honored  hours  ; 
Nash,    laughing   hard ;   Lodge,   flushed   from   lyric 
bowers  ; 
And  Lilly,  a  goldfinch  in  a  twisted  cage. 
Fed  by  some  gay  great  lady's  pettish  page 
Till  short  sweet  songs  gush  clear  like  short  spring 

showers  ; 
Kid,  whose  grim  sport  still  gambolled  over  graves  ; 
And  Chettle,  in  whose  fresh  funereal  verse 
Weeps  Marian  yet  on  Robin's  wild-wood  hearse  ; 
Cooke,  whose   light   boat   of   song  one  soft  breath 
saves. 
Sighed  from  a  maiden's  amorous  mouth  averse  : 
Live  likewise  ye  :  Time  takes  not  you  for  slaves. 

THE  MANY. 

IL 

Haughton,  whose  mirth  gave  woman  all  her  will  ; 

Field,  bright  and  loud  with  laughing  flower  and 
bird, 

And  keen  alternate  notes  of  laud  and  gird  ; 
Barnes,  darkening  once  with  Borgia's  deeds  the  quill 
Which  turned  the  passion  of  Parthenophil ; 

1  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton. 


EPILOGUE.  423 

Blithe  burly  Porter,  broad  and  bold  of  word  ; 

Wilkins,  a  voice  with  strenuous  pity  stirred  : 
Turk  Mason  ;  Brewer,   whose  tongue    drops   honey 

still ; 
Rough  Rowley,  handling  song  with  Esau's  hand  ; 

Liight  Nabbes  ;  lean  Sharpham,  rank  and  raw  by 
turns. 

But  fragrant  with  a  forethought  once  of  Burns  ; 
Soft  Davenport,  sad-robed,  but  blithe  and  bland  ; 

Brome,  gypsy-led  across  the  woodland  ferns  : 
Praise  be  with  all,  and  place  among  our  band. 


EPILOGUE. 

Our  mother,  which  wast  twice,  as  history  saith, 
Found  first  among  the  nations  :  once,  when  she 
Who  bore  thine  ensign  saw  the  God  in  thee 

Smite  Spain,   and    bring   forth  Shakespeare ;  once, 
when  death 

Shrank,  and  Rome's  bloodhounds  cowered,  at  Mil- 
ton's breath  : 
More  than  thy  place,  then  first  among  the  free  ; 
More  than  that  sovereign  lordship  of  the  sea 

Bequeathed  to  Cromwell  from  Elizabeth  ; 

More  than  thy  fiery  guiding-star,  which  Drake 

Hailed,  and  the  deep  saw  lit  again  for  Blake  ; 

More  than  all  deeds  wrought  of  thy  strong  right 
hand, — 

This  praise  keeps  most  thy  fame's  memorial  strong, 

That  thou  wast  head  of  all  these  streams  of  song. 
And  time  bows  down  to  thee  as  Shakespeare's  laud. 

THE  END. 


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